


Fire and Ice

by Calleva



Category: Aethelflaed/Erik - Fandom, Aethelrik - Fandom, The Last Kingdom (TV), The Warrior Chronicles | The Saxon Stories - Bernard Cornwell
Genre: F/M, Love, Romance, Smut, UST, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-18
Updated: 2017-07-26
Packaged: 2018-12-03 20:42:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 16
Words: 23,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11540067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calleva/pseuds/Calleva
Summary: Educated, intelligent and accomplished, Aethelflaed fails to impress her husband as much as her father. Locked in an abusive marriage, she longs for the heroes of myth and legend but they seem to have all gone. Then her world is turned upside down when she is kidnapped for ransom. Fighting the attraction, she finds herself falling for a man whose life and values seem so opposite to her own, but who strangely resembles the heroes in her storybook.  But can they have a future together?





	1. Wintanceaster, Kingdom of Wessex 886 AD

_Strang und stiðmod...._ ["strong and stouthearted"]

She had not a care in the world. Everything was new, and opening up to... who knew what?  

Once Mass was over, Aethelflaed hurried outside to find the head of the household guard. Steapa looked up as she entered the practice yard, battle ready in her light armour and breeches. Her face was flushed with pure joy and expectation.  
"Happy birthday Lady!" he greeted her with that mixture of respect and gruffness that was his manner. He smiled, unable to resist her mood.  
"Guess what Father is giving me!"  
"A horse?"  
"No! That was last year! He asked me a while ago what I wanted thinking to give me a jewel for my sixteenth birthday. But I've got enough jewels. Can't you guess?"  
Steapa thought that he could. This precious child, the joy of the King's heart, was seldom denied anything, but this might not always be a good thing. He sighed "You'd better tell me then, before we lose any more time off your sword skill practice".  
"A real sword! We're going to the forge today to collect it. I'm so excited I could almost die. It's going to be all mine, and made specially for me. He wanted it to have a jewelled hilt, but I think that a soft leather binding would be more useful. Like real warriors have.. And it's going to have lovely scrolling at the base."  
Steapa gave a grim smile, "You must take great care of it then. Come on, get a sword and a shield and show me what you can do."

The King's beloved child selected her usual wooden practice weapons and faced him in the ring.

Lady Aelswyth hadn't consulted Steapa of course, but the two were of a similar mind about the birthday gift. The seasoned warriors and rugged wooden walls of their capital might not always keep out invaders, but arming her young daughter and teaching her to fight did not sit easily with the King's consort. Alfred wanted all his children to be able to defend themselves, as in war not everyone with a sword was a battle hardened warrior. Alfred had reassured his nervous wife that their daughter would almost certainly never need the sword. It was something the child had asked for, and he could not refuse her.

Aethelflaed passed her birthday much like any other day. After a lengthy bout of sword skill training, she stood back and watched some of the young men at their own training. Theirs was a more punishing session, though she knew enough to watch and note the odd shield over-raised, leaving the body unprotected, or the too-slow footwork. Then when she was bored she went into the hut where the skillet awaited her. Chopped ham and scrambled eggs for six people, all cooked by her own hand in fresh pig grease. This was how she liked to break the fast, because of course one couldn't dip and dive on a full stomach. And it was all so much more fun when shared with others. Poor old Steapa, he pretended this was a chore but she knew he enjoyed this little ritual. How she would miss it when she was married!

Then, having eaten, it was time for the stables and her beloved Windwalker. Her horse was bred for looks and speed, too distinctive perhaps with the white mane and tail against the dark grey coat. A horse fit for a princess, and Aethelflaed rode her astride, still in her breeches but with a specially-made overdress with a split skirt. The gentle rolling hills and vales of Wessex beckoned in the soft sun, and outside the enclosure, she could cut loose and relish all that lovely freedom for a few sweet moments.

Wintanceaster's great hall was decked and garlanded that night for the birthday celebrations. The old roman basilica with the cracked tile floor had not often been the place of so much joy and hope. Alfred and his consort smiled, all tensions about Aethelflaed's education forgotten. She had grown into a beautiful young woman, glowing with good health, intelligence and sweetness. Later, much later, Alfred would call her into his study to discuss statecraft. He had also commissioned a bound book of prayers and tales for his daughter that he knew she would love. It would be an extra surprise. She had loved the sword which she had already named Stormbreaker.


	2. Mercia, the following year

_þonne hit wæs renig weder ond ic reotugu sæt_ ["Then it was rainy weather, and I sat sorrowful....." ] from Wulf and Eadwacer

 

Not all that is beautiful on the outside is lovely inside - her husband, for instance. The sky darkened and the rain fell and she sat desolate and alone. Not used to being unloved, she had at first not believed she was living her new life, which had seemed to offer so much. Thank God she had left Stormbreaker under her bed at home in a chest with her old childhood things. She hated to think what would have become of it had Aethelred discovered she owned a sword. She could of course keep Shark Bite, her ivory-handled knife with which she cut her food and which was a perfectly lethal weapon should she ever need one, but it wasn't the sixteenth birthday gift from her darling father. Alfred, King... the bitter truth was that he could not be told about her life. She must endure it for Wessex and his dream of a united land.

Was the pain in her heart worse than the pain in her body? At first she had found it hard to walk, to sit down, after his wedding night attentions. Could her mother not have warned her about this? That what passed between a man and a woman was akin to a sow being backed by a hog, and with as little affection? She had not known if she bled much, because she couldn't bring herself to look. Her nakedness was her shame, not her glory. Their marriage bed had been a mixture of fear and agony, the garland of flowers from her hair scattered and crushed among the creased sheets, dead and discarded like all her hopes.

And all because she had tried to be her Father's daughter. To speak as she had been taught, to be the worthy consort of the Lord of Mercia and an asset to the one day English nation. And Aethelred punished her for it. Had expected his lady to sit stitching and to say nothing to anyone outside her private quarters. She looked at the great gold ring on her hand, its bright yellow mocking her in its gorgeousness. Enslaving her, controlling her like the ring through the nose of a bull, or round the neck of a slave...

Happily, her new husband did not object to her reading. She had brought with her several books, including the much-loved tales she had enjoyed growing up. Tales of brave men fighting dragons, sailing the seas, killing the great monsters of the deep and finding hidden treasure. How was her younger self to know it was all one big lie? That there were likely never any heroes - apart from her own father of course. But there was none like him. Perhaps all his household men were really brutal in marriage, but as they treated her with respect she would never have known it. Did her father really swive her mother as she, Aethelflaed was used? The only thing to be said for it was that on their wedding night her husband could not see the hot tears that soaked the covers and the crushed flowers from her hair.

The enforced idleness of her days meant that her mind was more than usually full of dread for the night. If she was fortunate - what a pagan word! blessed, was more like it - he would not join her. She came to realise that he had at least one mistress, one of the ladies who had joined her own in her court. Aethelflaed didn't care, it meant that at least for some nights she wasn't grabbed and stabbed like a piece of meat being prepared for a feast. Perhaps this woman actually enjoyed it. Perhaps Aethelflaed herself might one day come to like it. She couldn't imagine how.

Oh how she missed her home! She pushed the needle into the fabric and pulled it through - her whole life seemed to be a bad needlework; sharp, stab, tug, pull the thread... repeat, repeat... for endless days when she could be out riding and inhaling the sweet air as it rushed past her face.


	3. :  Just outside Lundene

_"A long time ago, when the earth was younger than it is today, our forefathers lived in the far north, in the land of fire and ice. The fire came up from the depths of the earth and created hot pools where the people warmed and washed themselves. Then ice sheets came and covered the land, until the fire came again and melted it. But ice and fire make poor harvests, and so it was that our forefathers came to England, Norway and Denmark. But they never forgot the land of their birth, and it is said that from that time until now, our people are born from fire and ice."_ [from Aethelflaed's book of tales] 

 

When would this senseless jealousy end? Or would he eventually kill her with his suspicions, which came always with an undercurrent of violence? Barely stated but always there, like a roadside cut-throat lying in wait...

Why exactly was he so jealous? It was not because he cared for her. She was sure of this as she was sure of her own soul. How could he even imagine that she, Alfred's daughter, would lie with other men? Would have done so even before her wedding and the sodden red mess of proof? Unless of course there were no proof.... she had not cared to look? Perhaps she had lost her maidenhood in the saddle when she rose astride? There had been no sword play in secret with other men. Never. Her lovely youth was a locked garden now to her, surrounded by a high wall over which she could sometimes gaze with longing at the fragrant roses scrambling along the edge.... their thorns forbidding her to return. In those sweet and sun-touched days, what did she ever know about the sorrows of the marriage bed?  
____

War must come in the end. Aethelflaed had been prepared all her life for it, but not like this. As Aethelred took her along with his company towards Lundene, Mercia's jewel in the south, she fretted about her father. The marriage was supposed to have created an alliance between Wessex and Mercia, with the Lord of Mercia and his wife paying homage to the King, her father, one day king of all England. With her help spurned and her body sore with his cruel love, it seemed her husband did not care much for the King's daughter and thus the King himself. He preferred the company of his chief advisor Aldhelm who followed him everywhere as a smell clings to a carcass. They murmured to each other, and once she thought she caught a snort of contempt at the mention of the King. It had come to her that much as Alfred had hoped to have Mercia as ally and part of his kingdom, the Lord of Mercia might see things differently. Crowns could be bought and sold like brides.

So now Lundene, once the shining city on the Thames, was taken. Wolves from the north with fiercely painted faces and strange old gods had sacked it, killing and torturing, street by street. The ancient stone buildings ran again with blood, as she had been told they once had, long ago. In the old square, where slave markets were once held, holy men were nailed to crude crosses and hoisted high. Was there even one Saxon left alive?

Oh if only she had Stormbreaker! She did not expect to survive a battle with these fierce Northmen, but at least she could prove herself her father's daughter, swinging the sweet blade as she had been taught so carefully, and die bravely, as her forefathers had done. The one bright hope in all this was the warrior Uhtred - the one they called 'Godless' because he had been raised by Danes and turned away from the One God.

Her father had neither liked nor trusted Uhtred, but others thought otherwise. Men her father trusted like Leofric. Dear Leofric who had perished at Ethandun, her father's greatest victory. Someone should write a song about him one day, before he was forgotten. Leofric, who had no children, who had not liked Uhtred until the day when he came to love him like a son. And Uhtred would be in Lundene. She would not even be able to look at him of course, because of Aethelred's mad jealousy.

Here her husband must not suspect what had once been buried in her heart. For at the age of ten, Aethelflaed had borne a secret crush. In common with most of the women in her parents' court. Uhtred was to her the most beautiful man she had ever seen, and of course she had longed for him just to look at her. She smiled grimly to herself that she might not have ever dreamed of his long black hair and blue eyes had she known how it was between men and women. She tried to imagine lying with Uhtred, gazing into those blue eyes while he impaled her with as little care as threading a wild boar on a spit. Bitter tears stung her eyelids with the realisation that love is not gentle or kind. Other women seemed to endure it, why couldn't she? She could feel her heart turning to ice, the very ice from which her forefathers supposedly sprang. The walled garden of roses and sunshine that had been her old life was now surrounded by a thick wall of ice. There would be no return but nor could anything ever spoil its memory. No one and nothing should hurt her spirit again. "My husband will not break me" she resolved.

This thought gave her great comfort as they rode towards Lundene and prepared for battle.


	4. Where are You Taking Me?

_Oft sceall eorl monig anes willan wræc adreogan_ from Beowulf  
["Often must many a warrior suffer misery because of the will of one person"]  
"We fear that Aethelflaed has been .... taken...."  
"You... took... my daughter... into... battle!"

 

Lady Aethelflaed would remain outside Lundene while her husband and his company marched on the city to carry out the plan which he had devised. There were plenty of fighting men in the little camp to protect the few women. Aethelflaed was glad to be there. They were at least out of doors and she had ridden all the way on a fresh Windwalker who was happy to go on a long ride again. The tents made a cosy campsite and Aethelflaed found herself thinking about a skillet and ham and eggs. She and a couple of her ladies with Thyra, the priest's Danish wife, made pleasant company and soon the delicious smell of cooking rose into the air. While Lundene choked in burning flesh, Aethelflaed at least had a brief freedom to enjoy some home cooked food from that closed-off memory. Perhaps life was not always bound to be bad.

"The Lady Aethelflaed must be protected with your lives! For God and the King!" Shouts. A horn blowing. Screams. Lundene's agony reaching out to them with bloodied claws. Pitiless blades rained blood and shattered bone onto the soft grass where bodies now turned cold. Wooden trenchers, still sticky with eggs and smoked ham, lay carelessly like the strewn aftermath of a great feast. "Run for your lives!" Aethelflaed drew her short knife and ran for the wood. From the corner of her eye she saw one of the ladies raising her hands in a futile gesture of defence and then a sudden rain of red. In panic Aethelflaed crashed on into the undergrowth, not noticing the shrubs which tore at her legs and not daring to look back. Oh where was Thyra? Poor dear Thyra who had already suffered a lifetime of sorrow, to find joy, only to have it taken from her again..... Dear Lord, save us. Mother of God save us in our necessities and defend us from all dangers.... Hear my cry..... 

On and on, her side hurt with the running, and she could feel a trickle of blood on her leg where a bramble had snagged her. Voices behind her sounded more loudly. Jesu, parce mihi....

Rough hands caught her at last. She was almost relieved; the running was over, her gasping lungs could reach air. Strong arms. No axe, no blood-hungry sword just a gutteral strange accent in a language she did not understand. She barely caught a glimpse of her captor before he had snatched the ivory-handled knife from her hand, and then like a sack of turnips she was hauled head down over a shoulder and borne out of the wood. Had she really not run that far? Her captor smelt of sweat and old leather. She saw the heavy folds of his thick leather armour sway behind him as he walked. He was immensely strong. She must just endure this with as much dignity as she could. She was a King's daughter.

 

Then suddenly she was turned right way round again and standing on uncertain legs. Strong hands ensured she couldn't fall - or run away. Oh dear Lord, where was Thyra? Briefly, she noted the remnants of their camp, broken bodies everywhere; there lay the remains of a woman, her skirt clinging to her legs, damp with blood. Could it be the priest's wife? Whatever they had in mind for herself, she must remember who she was. Her father would want that. This is his land, and those were his people.

"Lady Aethelflaed?"  
"I am,"  
She raised her eyes to look at the speaker, trying to shake off the strong hands which still gripped her. This new man nodded to her captor to release her. Aethelflaed almost gasped. She had not seen a Northman in full armour so close before. His head was shaved at the sides with a central band of blond hair drawn back into a braid. On the sides of his scalp were strange designs - tattoo? paint? He was bearded, with the length pulled through a narrow silver ring beneath his chin. The eyes, clear and blue, were lined with some sort of dye. There was a long cut across his cheek and blood on his forehead that didn't look like his. Around his neck was a huge tousled skin that might have been the pelt of a bull - or an aurochs perhaps? Designed to enhance his shoulders, she found herself thinking. Maybe underneath it he was puny?... Was it possible that even here, she was calculating armour and weaponry? Yes it was. She noted the narrow-hilted sword and the short sword at his side. He was wearing woven leather armour with the same long thick protective skirt as her captor, and wrist guards lined in fur. They wouldn't dig into the skin like hers used to.

"You will come with us. You will not be harmed if you do not struggle." he said in lightly accented English. It was almost tone perfect.  
"Who are you?" she asked coldly.  
"I am Erik, and that is my brother Sigefrid," came the reply. Aethelflaed caught sight of a man with a thick black beard some way off, thrusting an axe into someone with what looked like glee. Aethelflaed was suddenly filled with anger at their casual cruelty "Not even animals behave like this," she told the blond man hoping that her cool tone hid the fact that inside she was quaking with fear.

A young fighter led up a large black warhorse and Erik nodded towards it. She supposed it was for her. She had seen some of their horses lying dead.  
"I have a horse" she said firmly "and I am not going anywhere without her."  
"Do not struggle, Lady."  
"Well find her, or I will struggle," she hissed. He looked into her eyes while she stared back. "What does it look like?"  
Aethelflaed shrugged, "No matter. I don't see her. She's either dead or fled and someone else will find her and take her."  
"I'm sure we can find you another one,"  
"No, you can't."  
Ignoring him, she made to mount the great horse but the blond Norseman jumped into the saddle before her and she found herself being handed up sideways in front of him. She wasn't used to riding side saddle and felt unsafe. The horse's back was a long way from the ground. She clutched its mane to steady herself. Almost at once two strong arms came round her and gathered the reins from the attendant. "This is not necessary, I can ride perfectly well" she muttered in disgust. There was no reply but as they moved forwards there was a low cheer from the other fighters, as if the hunt had been successful and the deer was being brought home slung from a pole.

They rode on in silence. Aethelflaed sitting straight, in order not to have any body contact with her captor. She considered giving the horse a kick or a slap to spook it, but decided against it. She was their prisoner for now and trying to escape was probably useless. She decided to use the time to think about her situation and what might be done. Could she reason with them? Try to find some kind of agreement? But what did she have to offer them? Where was Uhtred? Oh God surely he wasn't dead? And what of her husband? Somehow she felt he would survive, even if he had to sell out his friends. And if sacrificing her meant saving his own life, he would certainly do it. 

The day wore on but still they rode. Snatches of conversation meant nothing to her - was it in Danish? The blond man said very little but she felt he was thinking. Perhaps he had already decided on her fate. Fear rinsed through her bones like water.  
"Where are you taking me?" she asked, hating the tremor in her voice.  
"I see you've found your voice, I've given up Lundene for you,"  
"A ship? a cage?" terrible images came to her mind, but strangely rape wasn't uppermost in her thoughts. Perhaps because she was so used to its effects. She had come to believe her body was damaged forever since it always hurt. Back in the camp, half a lifetime ago, she had asked Thyra about this, and Thyra had said no, it did not hurt. So clearly, Aethelflaed had been injured so that the marriage bed would always hurt, even if she got used to it. She thought that if her husband had, by some fluke, died, she could go into a nunnery and forget about her ruined body. She would strike a deal with God. It was only fair. Meanwhile what were these strange, savage people going to do with her?  
The Northman replied, "I've yet to decide".

It was getting cold as evening came on. Instinctively Aethelflaed leaned back a little to catch the warmth of the rider behind her. His arms were steady around her and she no longer feared falling. She found herself relaxing and thinking that for all his cruelty he didn't seem bent on malice. She couldn't feel this coming from him. So if they didn't want to torment her, they were almost certainly going to use her as a tool against her father. But how? The swaying movement of the horse started to be uncomfortable but she didn't want to complain. There wasn't much to be done anyway. She must have dozed because the next thing she knew was that his arms were holding her more tightly and she was lying against his leather-clad chest, her head tucked beneath his chin. She could feel his beard against her face and his steady breathing. Did this man really mean her harm? He had said she'd be safe if she didn't struggle, and so far nothing bad had happened to her. 

The lighted stronghold of Beamfleot loomed before them, lanterns glowing orange against the darkness. There were shouts from the walkway joining the high towers. The gates opened and suddenly there was a crowd jostling them, jeering and reaching at her, pulling at her clothes. Erik behind her seemed smugly content with this, laughing and greeting the people around him. Aethelflaed felt sickened - his supposed concern for her was just an act. All the time he was congratulating himself on the day's work - the slaughter of her companions and capture - enslavement? - of herself. The swarthy one called Sigefrid had ridden into the centre of the courtyard, his axe raised in triumph "This prize will not be sold cheaply!"

So she would be ransomed. And her father would surely pay it. He would empty all his treasury; to find the sum he would strip everything from his kingdom, from the palace at Wintanceaster to the meanest hovel - every clipped penny would be counted. Perhaps with Mercian help he could do it? But that would involve her husband agreeing. His pride would go some way, but only so far.


	5. Beamfleot, Viking Stronghold

A stable was not the worst prison she could imagine. For one thing, it had a small high window which let in natural light, and the walls were thick enough to keep out most of the damp and cold. There was a narrow bed, water for washing, and a night bucket. The floor had been cleaned and laid with fresh straw. It was even quite spacious; she could pace up and down. But if Erik thought she was going to be grateful, he was wrong.  
"What of my companions?" she asked him; the answer was as grim as she had dreaded, that any women in the camp not slain would be taken as slaves, each 'claimed' by one of the men. Poor Thyra. 

Once alone, Aethelflaed prepared herself for sleep, suddenly overcome by lethargy and tiredness. The washing water was cold and she didn't feel clean in this stable, still smelling faintly of its previous occupant. Set into the double doors of her prison was a barred opening through which she could see the heads of horses, each in its stall. Hers was at the end, a sort of loose box, allowing her more space. She pulled off her outer garments, and got into the little bed in her underdress. The bed was unexpectedly comfortable. To her surprise, the last thing that came into her mind as she settled into sleep was the idea of being 'claimed' herself. Clearly she was a prize intended to ruin her father, and not meant for anyone's bed. But the idea of being claimed by Erik was not altogether unpleasing...... it was, after all, just an idea.

Waking the following morning, Aethelflaed was briefly puzzled by her surroundings, before the hard truth of her situation came back to her. She was a prisoner, held for ransom - if a ransom could be found. Not a hostage, and with no guarantees of safety.

She thought of hostages in her father's court. The most recent had been Ragnar and his crazy woman Brida. Ragnar had been the second crush that Aethelflaed had developed. He was Uhtred's Danish adopted brother, and Thyra was their sister. A huge Northman, with long blond locks flowing down his back in an unkempt braid, he was a guilty secret of hers. She would take food and ale to him as he sat in his prison - one not as comfortable as the one she found herself in - and ask him to tell her about Danish life. His shrewd gray-blue eyes were also very kind, and his stories about his childhood with Uhtred reminded her of her little book of Tales of Long Ago. Only without dragons and buried treasure. Aethelflaed loved to hear about the courage of Ragnar their father and his family, and how Uhtred had defended the honour of Thyra at the expense of a beating. Brida in the next cell would snort disdainfully at her, but she was silent when Ragnar Ragnarson told of his memories as they were hers too. 

"She'd like to hump you, you bastard," she had heard Brida hiss at Ragnar one time as she was leaving the hostage quarters. And the thought when it played in her virginal mind had been pleasant, even if vague on detail.

 

Slowly Aethelflaed rose from the little bed and tried to wash in the cold water. Long gone were the days when she flung herself out of bed and ran outside, impatient to meet the day. Her eighteenth birthday was coming - where would she spend it? In this place, probably. Unless the ransom didn't come and her young life would end. Perhaps she wouldn't die and Erik would claim her. But then why would he? she'd probably end up at the mercy of some stinking sweaty hulk who reeked of old-meat-breath and stale urine. 

No point in worrying about it. One of the womenfolk came in with a plate of bread and an apple and set it on the upturned barrel that served as a table. The thought of eating made her feel queasy. There seemed little point when she was going to die anyway. She might as well give up and spare her father. With her death, he might even be saved. She longed to bathe - fear had made her sticky and her hair felt lank. 

"My men tell me you are refusing to eat"  
"I am"  
"Why?"  
"I'm not hungry. I want to bathe..."  
"My brother says you can bathe in a barrel in full view of the men.." she stared icily at him.." but if I arrange for you to bathe in privacy will you eat?"  
"Yes" she looked at her feet. What had she agreed to? Perhaps it was to spite the brother.  
"Agreed, then. In exchange you must eat the food we provide..." He even made it sound as if he cared about her. Well he wasn't so caring among that baying crowd last night, flaunting his captive, was he?  
"Very well." she sat down at the upturned barrel and eyed the bread and apple again. He gave a brief, flickering smile and turned to leave. As soon as he was gone she tore a large piece of bread and bit eagerly into it. She was hungrier than she knew. She shut her eyes and savoured the nutty taste of the bread. Without that dead cow over his shoulders, it was clear he was broad and muscular, certainly not puny. 

There were seven in the bathing party - five burly Northmen in full armour, Helga, one of their womenfolk, and Aethelflaed herself. Considering she was just going to bathe alone, it seemed very much like overkill. She smiled grimly to herself. Erik was beside her looking briskly efficient, his woven leather jerkin reflecting the morning sunshine in a myriad of muted colours. For good measure he had unsheathed his sword as if expecting trouble "Why so many guards" she said drily, "surely you are not that afraid of me?"  
"Lady, you are a prize," he muttered, turning to look at her, "even when unwashed". Then he picked up the pace and walked on ahead. For some time she watched him as he moved, his heavy lower armour barely seeming to weigh anything. He must be very strong she thought. But was there a little swagger in the way he walked, and did he really need to have his sword drawn? Why would he show off to her though? It didn't make sense. Her eyes followed him and she wondered what she would have thought of him if she were not his prisoner. Even with the savage hair and the carefully made-up eyes, he was handsome. There was an earnestness about his face sometimes, when his eyes looked rounder, that seemed almost innocent. But he wasn't innocent and she must have no illusions about his part in her capture.

They reached a small lake and paused. Helga and Aethelflaed walked together to the water's edge, leaving the men at a distance. Helga had brought a large woven cloth with her and held it out to shield Aethelflaed while she undressed. Hesitating, Aethelflaed looked across at the men. Were they going to stare at her? But no, Erik signalled to them to turn around and she was soon looking at the broad backs and scrappy pigtails of five fighting men. She stripped completely and handed her clothing to Helga. Then she walked into the water, letting the cold envelop her. Were those men still looking away? She could hardly look over her shoulder to check. She rubbed herself with the little bar of lye soap and handed it back to Helga. Then she glided forward, arms outstretched for a short swim. How lovely to be in the water again! Her father had insisted his children learn to swim. To die in a shipwreck in calm waters was a disgrace he thought. Feeling cold, Aethelflaed swam back to Helga who held up the sheet and wrapped her in it and then helped her into her things. The large grandmotherly Norsewoman barely smiled but Aethelflaed felt she wasn't unfriendly. 

Catching up with the men, Aethelflaed murmured 'thank you' to Erik and he nodded and replied "better?". She gave a taut smile. It wouldn't do to be too grateful, she thought. Then she was conscious of one of their companions, the short fat one called Haesten who seemed to be one of Erik's most trusted men. He sniggered under his breath to his boss and Aethelflaed moved away, disgusted by his smuttiness. The idea of a young woman taking a bathe would have been considered natural in her father's household. These fighting men with their wild hair, tattooes and darkened eye sockets were much more childish she thought. She kept close to Helga on the way back. 

The morning breeze helped to dry her hair on the way back to Beamfleot and warmed her face. But what would she do now? Go back into her cell and brood for the rest of the day, pausing only to eat the dreary fare they thought to send her. Before he left her, Erik asked if she was comfortable. "Well enough" she replied, "but if I can't do anything all day I will go mad. Would it be possible for me to do some mending for the women, perhaps? I would need to be shown how, but I am capable with a needle and I might as well be useful."  
"I will ask," he said with again that earnest thoughtful expression.  
"Oh and there is something else...." He looked at her alertly.  
"Would you ask your brother that the next time he sacks a monastery, he would be so kind as to save me some books rather than burning the lot. It would help to pass the time for me."

He didn't reply but gave a tight-lipped nod. 

With him gone she was alone again. Why did it seem as if so much life was sucked from a place when he left it?


	6. Precious

On the ride from Lundene: _"he found himself imagining the body before him beneath his hands: the curves of her hips like the roads that twisted through her father's kingdom, the straightness of her graceful legs like a bridge that disappeared into morning mist above a river. All he wanted was for everyone else to disappear, even his brother, so he could take his time mapping her body with his hands. Having her would be like having all the kingdom of Wessex spread out beneath him, warm and plentiful and ready for his seed."_ [from Surrender, online fanfic by pokeasleepingsmaug]

 

A few days ago it had seemed such a simple but magnificent idea: the Lord of Mercia had decided to take his wife with him to the outskirts of battle, so the brothers' plans had changed. As the raiders' mastermind, Erik had surpassed himself with this one. It was better by far than the Bjorn ruse. This time, the selfishness of Aethelred would prove his undoing. His bride was worth a fortune in gold and silver - they didn't need to raid at all. Just find her and sell her back to them. Alfred's precious daughter, now the wife of a man said to be mad with jealousy for her.

At that time Erik had never seen her but Aethelflaed must be very beautiful he figured. Why else would that pompous fool Aethelred be so possessive of her? He'd heard of Alfred's unusual parenting ideas, that his children were skilled - they could read and write, for instance, though why this was necessary Erik couldn't understand. It was probably something to do with religion. 

They'd had a lot of fun with Aethelred. The young pup had only just been made Lord of all Mercia and was already strutting like a year-old ram unaware that it was about to become dinner. After Erik and Sigefrid had taken Mercia's richest city, Lundene, Aethelred had appeared on the steps of one of those old stone temples offering them silver to leave. The Thurgilson brothers weren't so sure they were ready to leave yet, before the town had yielded up all its secrets, so they baited him about his new bride. "Our price is flesh" Erik had said, hardly restraining himself from laughing out loud. "Your bride Aethelflaed... She has beauty and a good mind, I have need of a wife" He looked pointedly at Sigefrid who added "and I have need of a hump - we will share her".  
"She is my WIFE!" Aethelred had shouted in fury. Oh the man was priceless. Could he really be that gullible? Could Alfred really be that stupid to marry his carefully brought up daughter to this idiot?

The entire Wessex court must be stuffed with fools. Perhaps that was the effect of their religion. Maybe Alfred's daughter was as stupid as the rest of them. He imagined her intense and pious in that absurd way that humourless people have, squinting avidly at some limp book of prayers. Well, they would lose her. For a while. And with the ransom money, he would build an army that would conquer England, sweeping all away before them. He and his brother would divide up the land so they would both be kings; he might even find time to get a wife.  
____

But that was then, before he had laid eyes on the princess of Wessex. He knew at once it was Aethelflaed when they'd brought her before him, dishevelled and cut from running in the woods. She had faced him calmly though he could tell she was afraid. Her fine clothes and gentle colouring denoted her a noblewoman unused to hard work. There was something almost manly about the way she considered him. But what a fine looking woman she was! Her grey eyes looked directly at him, accusing, protective of her own people. She wasn't at all what he was expecting and he found himself looking forward to riding with her back to Beamfleot. Would she say much? Offer to teach him Latin perhaps, or whatever language they used to pray with? 

But she hadn't. Instead she had seemed afraid of him, had shrunk from any contact with him at all. Of course she probably missed that ass of a husband. Women often had terrible taste in men. But no wonder the little maggot was so insanely jealous. Erik's own words at the foot of the old temple building haunted him on the way home - 'she has beauty and a good mind, and I have need of a wife'. It had seemed funny then but it wasn't now. There was suddenly a terrible truth to it. Well, never mind, Mercia would soon belong to the Lords of Chaos and he would have the pick of women. He had mused grimly on this as they rode back to the stronghold and tried to ignore the effect of the slim young body on the front of his saddle. What would she be like to ride? He longed to bury his face in her long hair and inhale the scent of her skin. 

Now she was a prisoner, he was finding every excuse to visit her. She fascinated him with her coolness, he had expected her to weep and wail like a claimed village girl, a once-beautiful face made ugly and swollen with crying, but instead she was calm, icy and angry. And he found himself wanting to please her. She might be their prisoner but she had committed no crime and it was hardly her fault that she was so valuable. No... precious... that was a better word for it. There was a golden quality about her that made her different to other women, he thought. 

He was being foolish. Better to get rid of the Saxon bitch as soon as possible, send her back to her husband so Erik could go back to raiding and feasting with his brother. He thought again of the husband and decided that Aethelred would be very handsome to a certain type of woman. The delicate face without a flaw or blemish, the locks of curly hair that framed his almost girlish face. Erik could well see how this very un-Norse looking man would appeal to an earl's daughter whereas his own people would seem coarse, like hounds of hel, perhaps.

Walking down to the lake that morning - he had wanted to impress her, hadn't he? Waving his sword and leading the way like a warlord. He'd wanted her to feel safe in his company and instead she had made a joke of it. And for her he had had his hair rebraided and buffed his armour. His tunic had been freshly cleaned. Would she even notice? He had wished that the others would just disappear so that they could bathe together. But wouldn't she be repelled by the scars on his body, preferring the smooth whiteness of the maggot her husband instead? A man who wouldn't know the right end of a sword if it stuck him in the privates?

"Where's the harm in looking?" Haesten's voice at his shoulder had seemed so reasonable at the time. As he had made his men turn their backs so the Lady of Mercia might bathe in private, Erik had not been able to resist looking over his shoulder. Nor it seems had Haesten. "She has beauty," his subordinate had said, his voice dark with lust. Erik had found himself gazing at her pale form with a longing that went beyond simple desire. She had seemed almost unearthly in her perfection. He had never wanted a woman as much as this one. Haesten's commonplace remark brought him back to himself, "She does" he said briskly, as if it were of no matter.

He had hated himself for looking, and for being found out by Haesten. He must just pretend she was some bit of fluff - it didn't do for the men to sense a weakness. The young woman, freshly washed and smelling of clean damp hair and the morning breeze, detected at once the laddish leering of his old companion at arms - of course she did! Alfred's daughter was sharp and probably missed nothing. Did she realise the effect she had on Erik? He began to resent her, to wish her far away so that he could get back to his old life. Feasting and fucking, robbing and killing... it had seemed a perfect life, and it would be so again. And they would get richer and richer.... perhaps he would end up killing the maggot and claiming Aethelflaed for his own bed. The King's daughter would ride like any other woman; there was nothing really special about her after all. She had two arms and two legs and the same parts that all women had. He would conquer this.

Her cheeks were flushed pink with the effect of the walk and her eyes were shining. Did she realise how beautiful that made her, he wondered?


	7. You Are Precious, Lady

It seemed that simple mending was considered not appropriate for a captive princess, born an earl's daughter. Instead she had been presented with a piece of square cloth, clearly cut from something larger, a needle and woollen threads in black and white. The thread had already been divided into lengths, so she would not need to cut it. Cutting implements were not allowed to her. Sighing, she had set herself to hemming the edges before planning the embroidery. She would do some simple interlaced leaves and flowers around the border. It might make a nice parting gift for someone. Her father always gave a lot of gifts. It was the way of her people.

She would have liked to read. The lamp they had provided gave good light in the evening and she could always ask for more candles. How different she felt now she was clean again. Why was it that a good bathe made things better? 

The latch at the door moved. It was probably her evening meal, or perhaps Erik checking that she was all right. He had a habit of doing that, didn't he? Perhaps he felt guilty at keeping her prisoner.... But it wasn't him. She noticed with disappointment that it was only the scruffy fat one who had shared a smutty joke with Erik this morning.   
"What do you want?" she thought she could smell him from the end of the room.  
"To remind you that you are a woman..... I like the paleness of your skin...show me ... take off your clothes, or I will rip them from you.." He advanced towards her, his small eyes glinting with the prospect of seeing her naked - for the second time that day perhaps? How did he know how pale her skin was? Did Erik really let his thugs feast their eyes on her once her back was turned?

She looked around in panic for something to defend herself with. Steapa's training kicked in: "you don't need a sword to have a weapon, lass. If you need one, you can use almost anything," She seized her night bucket and threw its contents at him. He was briefly surprised. Maintaining the initiative, she hit him with it, hard, aiming the metal rim at his face. He went down. Instinctively she snatched the knife from his belt and raised her hands to bring them down with force, the killing blow. 

Which never came. Hands caught hers as she aimed the blade downwards. Denied her revenge she yelled and struggled in frustration. At the same time the entire stable seemed to explode with movement. Another body interjected itself between her and the fat man, furiously shouting at him to get up onto his feet. Haesten did so only to be knocked down again with great force. He scrabbled on the ground, and Aethelflaed noticed an old tear on the back of his grubby jerkin. He was really rather pathetic. She felt almost sorry for him as Erik's blows kept falling savagely down on him. Eventually he got to his feet, took a step back and hissed defensively at his lord, ''she is a hostage!" as if that made it all right.   
Erik brought his face close to Haesten's "SHE IS PRECIOUS!" he bawled. "Now get out!" He nodded that she be released.   
She promptly sat heavily on the ground. The adrenaline ebbing from her system left her feeling limp and useless. She had almost managed to kill that vile creature, but now she felt powerless to do anything. A proffered hand reached down to her. She took it and let him help her to her feet. They were alone together.  
"My apologies, lady, this should not have happened," That same earnestness. He looked so sincere she was tempted to believe him. All the horror of the previous moments seemed to evaporate now he was here, lighting up the room, taking control. She almost wished he could take control of her life and never let go. She would never feel afraid again.  
"I need to know what to do if this should happen again." she murmured. His blue eyes looked regretfully at her, "This will not happen again, lady," and he made to leave her alone.  
"This is not the first time a man has mistreated me," Why did she have to tell him that? Perhaps to keep him from leaving. He spun round, "Who else?"  
"Not here," she could hardly tell him about her husband. Though it would be lovely to see him giving Aethelred a good beating.  
"Sleep well...safely" he said with that flickering half-smile, the same one he had used when they had come to an agreement about food and bathing. Then as if an afterthought, "You are precious, lady," and he was gone.

Oh yes, she was precious all right. Worth her weight in silver and gold.

She put herself to bed, moving half-consciously, as if under some kind of spell. With every day her future seemed more uncertain and here she was falling for this savage Northman who thought of her as a commodity to be bought and sold. Precious indeed! But the way he had looked at her, directly and fixedly, as he told her she was precious, made her wonder what exactly he meant. Her heart felt numb. As she slipped under the covers she realised that in some ways Erik Thurgilson was so exactly like one of the brave men in the book she called Tales of Long Ago. He had rescued her, hadn't he? And it was a rescue, despite that she was about to deal with her attacker, because she would have had to justify herself to a group of men who had no respect for the rights of female captives. That Erik disapproved of anyone trying to claim her put her under his protection. Sadness ringed her heart. She wanted to ride away with him to the land of fire and ice, to explore new lands with him. To wear armour and swing Stormbreaker alongside him. She longed to be his, in all ways but the painful marriage bed. He had made it clear he didn't want her to suffer, after all.

With him, the ring of ice around her heart could melt and she could be her old self again. Free of fear and pain. But what of fire? Would he even want the fire of her loyalty and - love?


	8. Wordhoard

Early morning was almost the nicest time. She could hear birdsong through the little window, and, more distantly, the movement of the horses in their stalls. She liked to watch them being led outside while the stables were being cleaned. The great doors would open to let them through and sunlight would pour into the building. 

How long had she been there? A week? It was beginning to be difficult to know. Her father would not come - he would send an ally; Aethelred, perhaps? But could her husband really negotiate a deal with the Thurgilson brothers? It was all so puzzling....

The doors to her cave-like home opened. Helga came in with a wooden dish that contained some sort of porridge. It smelt vaguely fishy - these people liked their seafood. Fish and grains wasn't a bad mixture and it was filling. A change from bread and apples anyway. She smiled at the sturdy woman and thanked her. Helga nodded and slipped out. Aethelflaed felt briefly sad, because any presence was company for her and she was often lonely. But in a second it was clear why Helga had left - Erik appeared almost silently in the doorway. Aethelflaed had sat at the barrel and begun to eat, while the food was still warm. At least it would show him that she was eating.

He said nothing but went over to her bed. He had a bundle under his arm which he dropped in a heap onto the covers. Was it - ? could this be - ?  
Books!  
"So a monastery's loss is my gain," she noted drily. He stepped back, "I found these among my brother's things. He's had them a while. I expect he would have soon thrown them away so you might like to have a look at them first. I have no idea if they are of interest."  
Aethelflaed swallowed the last of her breakfast and hurried to the little pile. They were books and not scrolls and each one had indents in its cover, as if there had once been precious stones. She could imagine Sigefrid casually levering them out with the point of a knife. No matter, the chief earthly treasure of each monastery lay in the pages of its books, not the bindings. She picked up the smallest which turned out to be a book of hours. Good, using it would calm her mind and help her to see clearly how foolish her infatuation was becoming. There was a book of tales, a commentary on the book of Judith, and some random poems bound together with some riddles and even a few recipes.  
"Any good?" he asked. Aethelflaed noted the genuine confusion in his eyes. He had no idea at all what he had brought her as he could not read. "They will be religious books of course but they might pass the time...."  
She laughed, "One of them is a prayer book, such as we use at my father's court. The rest however are mostly a mix of stories, poems and the like. I will spend many hours reading them. Thank you..."  
He looked thoughtfully at the books on the bed, and then at the one in her hand. She noted the little crease at the bridge of his nose which appeared when he was puzzled. This sea-wolf was quite at sea in her world. His brow furrowed as he tried to understand her. She noticed how his face ranged between almost unlined and youthful to shadowed with care. It was hard to know his age, but she didn't think he was that old. Aethelred was twenty-three, Erik was probably a couple of years older, but she couldn't really tell.

"I used to love old tales," she said, reaching for the book of stories. "I wonder if I'll recognise any of these. You might like some of them, if you enjoy stories about heroes and dragons. I could read to you one evening if you are not busy." her voice tailed off.  
"You are saying that monasteries have all kinds of writings?" he was genuinely astonished.  
"Of course. That is how we know what our forefathers thought. Not just tales but wisdom as well. They wrote down where they travelled and what strange things they saw. They made maps and pondered the night skies."  
He looked at her wonderingly.

The books gave her a lot more to do and to think about. The book of hours she resolved to use, to force herself to stop dreaming about her captor and any possible future they might have together. The other books, especially the collection of rhymes and riddles was another matter. She was deep in it when Erik visited later that day.  
"I thought you might like to go outside for a while, it's a warm night."  
Aethelflaed was eager to escape her prison for a while, even though she had some new entertainment.

They walked a little way out of the stronghold in the direction of the lake. They sat down on the dunes overlooking the bay with its longships moored. "I saw the moon and the clear sky and wanted to share it with someone" he told her. Overhead the full moon cast its warm light over the scene before them, the water in the distance catching its silvery sheen, while the heavens seem to hold more stars than she could imagine. Aethelflaed saw the pole star, and the plough. It was like looking into a jewel box. "I'm glad you thought of me," she said.  
"Well it was either share it with you or with my brother" he admitted. She gave a nervous laugh; he could be so charming.  
"I was born on the night of a whole moon," he told her, "my father wanted to call me Mani after the moon god, but every night Mani is chased by Hati the wolf, and my mother didn't want me to be chased by wolves..."  
"But surely the moon is always reborn? So perhaps Hati isn't a bad thing...."  
He interrupted her by touching her face, "I've never seen a face like this before" he murmured, gazing wonderingly at her, "now I see it even when I close my eyes..." he turned abruptly from her and looked away, "your husband is a fortunate man," Even as he said it, he felt jealousy and hatred towards the maggot and his face clouded unhappily.  
"My husband does not see me" she replied slowly. He turned his head towards her, a small frown of disbelief, "then he is blind, or stupid..."  
"He is not blind" she admitted. How could she tell this man that her husband was not her mental equal, that she had nothing in common with him at all?  
"He is not gentle, I'm guessing..... he's the one who mistreats you..." Erik had clearly been pondering this. Aethelflaed, not wanting to sound disloyal, but unable to help herself told him simply "He's not the man I would choose to be with."  
Their eyes met. What was she saying to him, he wondered? That she would prefer him, Erik? It was difficult to discern her expression but she wasn't shrinking away, was she? Slowly, carefully, giving her time to object, he bent his head towards hers and gave her an experimental peck on the mouth. As she responded he went in again, this time more forcefully. It was clear she was unused to this, but her enthusiasm gave him hope. Could she, after all, prefer an illiterate warrior who waged war on everything she held dear, to the smooth girl-man her father had chosen for her? He gathered her in his arms and laid her gently back as their kisses went deeper. He found himself losing control; she was everything he had ever wanted without knowing it, and unless she was playing another game, she seemed to want him too. "You are beautiful" he murmured into her hair, "I want you so... "  
She seemed to tense and he looked down into her eyes and saw conflict there, and pain. "It's all right, I won't make you. We can wait," the words were forced, he didn't want to wait. He wanted her now. It was almost like physical pain.  
"I'm sorry. It's just that I am not... used to ... can we not enjoy the beautiful night together? I don't think I've ever had such a wonderful evening...."  
Gods! the maggot didn't deserve this golden creature. Erik saw it all - he had fucked her like a toy, hadn't he? Marked her with his ownership, a woman he could not begin to deserve. And here she was entrusting herself to him, Erik, and showing him how her life was. 

Somehow in this mad moonlit night, with this half-wild man, the one she had wanted so much, Aethelflaed wished she could hide her terrible secret a while longer. Perhaps he wouldn't mind that she could not lie with him? She wanted to give herself, but fear of pain, of humiliation, pulled her back. Yet she must be honest with him, he deserved as much. It would mean losing him, probably, but she could not deceive him. Tears welled up and she pulled her head to one side. Such joy, such sweet, exquisite happiness... and it could never be hers.  
"What is it?" he knew at once she was hesitant. She blinked and looked up at him with glassy eyes. "I - don't know - if I can even tell you..." she whispered.  
"Of course you can" he buried his fingers into her hair and inhaled her scent, as he had longed to do. What was bothering her? religious qualms? fear of her husband? her father? Guilt? He was sure it was something they could resolve together. 

Sitting upright, with her hands folded in her lap, Aethelflaed haltingly told him her secret dread. That she was either damaged or perhaps born with something wrong which made things painful. She knew that there were people with physical imperfections from birth. And he did not flinch from her, make an excuse to go back inside and shun her company ever after. He sat close to her and put his arm around her, nudging her head onto his shoulder.  
"I've not heard of anything like this" he admitted.  
She sighed, "I'm sorry".  
"It's not your fault. Can I think about this?" again that little crease between his eyes. He was like a warrior pondering a battle plan. She saw at once that he didn't have a lot of insight into such things. Well, why should he? He was less a lover than a fighter. She thought it made him more adorable.

Together they watched the moon travel across the sky until the first light appeared.


	9. Shaman

It ought to have an easy solution he reasoned. That precious woman had been ill-used by the maggot and he had hurt and frightened her. Erik hadn't much experience of having to coax a woman into his bed. He simply claimed one and was reasonably humane, which usually worked well enough. Perhaps all Aethelflaed needed was a large goblet of wine, to relax and let him take over. That was probably it. But she was convinced there was some terrible injury, though had never been to a herbalist or healer to find out. She was too afraid of being prodded. Yet that maggot was able to poke her with his dick, wasn't he? So it was unlikely to be a deformity in her. Her fears certainly did not prevent her from showing him affection; when he visited her she would throw herself into his arms and shower him with kisses. 

Having confided her deepest fears in him, Aethelflaed now seemed to withdraw a little. She had been quite serious about the amount of affection she was prepared to accept. He could kiss and caress her face and hair but nothing more was allowed. She would tense up and move away from him, while assuring him that she loved him and only him. It was frustrating but he was determined to overcome it all, she was too precious to lose.

Alone in her room, Aethelflaed spent a lot of time weeping in private. She should be the happiest of women, she had the love of this Northman, the kind of man she had dreamed about for almost all her life, and yet she could not belong to him. Not in marriage, or in the flesh. She couldn't even pray because there didn't seem to be a solution which she could accept.

 

There was to be a marriage in the stronghold, and the whole place was abuzz with the preparations. Aethelflaed heard about it from the young guards who sat playing dice outside her cell. She wanted to attend. "Could I please go? If it isn't some kind of bad luck to have a Christian at a pagan wedding?" she asked Erik.  
He shook his head, "No it would be fine. I don't know if my brother would object - I've had to be careful around him. He is happy for me to visit you if he thinks it's just for - sex." he shrugged apologetically. She slid into his arms and nuzzled into his neck. She loved the sinuous curve where his shoulder met his neck, the skin was so enticing there.. it was easy to get drunk on this man, she thought. "I'd like to attend this with you, just to see it for myself. I've never been to a pagan ceremony of any kind. Will there be an animal sacrifice?"  
"There will," he assured her. She would have to shut her eyes tightly then.

As it turned out, the young couple was pleased at the idea of a King's daughter attending their marriage, so Aethelflaed would go. She would stand with the other women and watch from the side. If her father knew about this he would be extremely concerned, but she figured that no harm could come to her. How often had Alfred or Beocca assured people that the old gods didn't exist? So how could non-existent gods harm her? Of course there were evil spirits, demons, and some people believed that these were really the old gods in disguise. Well, Aethelflaed didn't know about this, but she could not believe that everyone in Beamfleot was possessed, and certainly Erik was not. His brother might have an evil bloodlust, but this could be explained in various ways.

Excitement began to gather when the old shaman arrived who would officiate at the marriage ceremony. Hugi had been a berserker warrior, a fighter with a kind of battle lust, which gave him the strength of ten men. Such men were highly prized among northern peoples, not just as fighters but because they were considered to have a link with the gods. The shaman was actually a twin, and the two had been called Hugin and Munin, after the two ravens of Odin. Both had been warriors although Munin had died some time ago, but Hugin had survived into old age. Erik told her that he was probably a bit strange as a result of so many head injuries, "The old man is something of a treasure to us, but be warned that he has a habit of sitting with a jug of ale and telling people they are going to die horribly."  
"Well that is probably something you don't need second sight for," Aethelflaed noted, "with your lifestyle.... I'd really like to see him for myself though."

She got her wish. A messenger appeared in Aethelflaed's room; apparently the shaman had asked for her to be brought to him during the feast. Intrigued, she entered the great hall where the feasting had begun, voices died down when she appeared. No doubt the old man had been told there was a hostage who happened to be a king's daughter.

Hugi was very old, and bore such terrible wounds that most things now had to be done for him. He was also stone blind. Aethelflaed found him fascinating. His old lined face was covered in tattoos, sinuous swirls of black. He must have been quite terrifying in battle she thought. Now he was just a rather sad old man with a bent body and sparce white hair. She sat on the bench beside him, smiling kindly. The rest of the company lost interest in her and the noise picked up. Instinctively, Aethelflaed reached for a piece of meat and put it onto a wooden platter for him. She gently touched his hand to the food, as she had seen people do with the elderly in her father's hall. The old man seemed happy with this and put the food into his mouth, while he grasped Aethelflaed's arm with his other hand. He began to mutter some words in Danish that didn't seem to make much sense, because people were ignoring him. He turned his empty eyes onto her and said some words as if questioning. A man she didn't recognise spoke to him, perhaps explaining who she was. He nodded and spoke some more. Aethelflaed cut him some more roast pork and pulled some bread into small pieces.

She looked around for Erik but he was sitting with his brother, his back to her. She couldn't stop herself from thinking how handsome he was, and how he was the most impressive man in the room. There was that long tattoo on the back of his neck which she had traced with little kisses only minutes ago. So many secrets.   
"How does she ride?" Sigefrid muttered to his brother. Erik paused as if to consider then screwed up his face, "Oh you wouldn't like her, she's bony and she squeals" he stopped to spoon food into his mouth, "mmn hmmnn, she passes the time".  
"What if you put a pup in her belly?"  
Erik thought and chewed, "Then Alfred will get two for the price of one," he chuckled. Sigefrid gave a snort of laughter. Glancing around the full hall, he did not notice the thoughtful expression on Erik's face.

Aethelflaed should have been sitting with the women, but the shaman Hugi had asked for her. He clearly had something to say, and she was interested to learn what. She looked around and caught the eye of one of the young fighters called Sihtric. She had come to know him a little as he was often one of the guards outside her cell and she knew he spoke her language. He came over and she asked him to interpret.  
"Can you please tell the old man - Hugi - that I don't understand his language but you will tell me what he is trying to say?" she asked. Sihtric responded with a flow of incomprehensible language. The old man nodded his head in understanding and responded with some gutteral words of his own.   
"He says he is glad you are here, lady and wish to be at the wedding, thinks this will please the gods"  
"Yes... but does he say anything else about me?" Perhaps this wasn't wise, considering what Erik had told her about Hugi's dire prophecies.  
Another burst of words. Aethelflaed thought she caught the meaning of some of them - their two languages weren't so different. "He says - oh, but it's perhaps not important...."  
"Tell me,"  
"'The uncrowned queen has a husband who is not her husband. The uncrowned king will claim her..'. Sorry, lady, I don't understand it either. He's a bit drunk. Take no notice."

Across the room, Aethelflaed saw that Erik had turned in his seat and was watching her. Had someone told him what the old man had said? 

But who was the uncrowned queen? Could it be her mother, who was referred to as the Lady Aelswyth? But Alfred was definitely her husband. Or Aethelflaed herself, perhaps? Mercia didn't have a king but she didn't want to be a queen anyway. She had seen how her father had suffered because of his kingship; the cares it brought, and she had no wish for that. She had only wanted to be a earl's wife, to ride her horses and live a carefree life with children and dogs - and to advise her husband, ruling together with him in her father's name. 

Who was the uncrowned king who would claim her? Probably another Saxon noble connected to the Mercian court. Would it be a violent thing? She shivered at the thought of another unwanted husband imposing himself on her body.


	10. Mani and Hati

Erik came himself to her cell to collect Aethelflaed for the wedding. He was dressed in a burgundy tunic with gold edging and the loose leggings and boots which all the men wore. He walked her over to the gathering which was in an open space just outside the stronghold. Then he patted her hand briefly and left her with the women. It was a warm night and a large fire was being lit. Aethelflaed watched the sparks going up, lighting the air in a strange dance. The fire smelt peaty, as if the earth was being summoned as a witness. Aethelflaed tried not to think of what her parents would say.

She had brought with her the completed embroidered square as a gift. It might make a decorative cloth or they could simply wrap things in it. The light was going down quite fast now and the stars coming out. Overhead the waning moon shed a soft light on the scene. Aethelflaed could see the lake in the distance and remembered that night when she watched the dawn come up with Erik. Her heart gave a little lurch and sadness filled her as she thought of the happiness of the young couple and the impossibility of such a future with the man she loved. She blinked away the tears as they began to sting, 'He is my soul's joy,' she thought, 'and I can't tell anyone'.

Hugi was brought forward until he was standing in front of the flames. The people stood further away. Then in the empty space two young fighters sprinkled something that looked like powder on the ground in a circle, and then set fire to it with lighted tapers, it burned low. Erik had explained to her that the circle represented the new life of the couple and the flames separated them from their old lives and created a new 'home' for them. Aethelflaed thought how lovely but strange it all was and how unlike any marriage ceremony she'd ever attended. The young couple approached the circle and stepped inside. The people applauded and jostled to get a view. Hugi then began to speak, perhaps invoking various gods for their blessing. He raised both hands and intoned some kind of ritual magic. The young couple joined hands and through the ring of fire, Aethelflaed saw them receive a cup from the shaman. It was difficult to decide what to look at - the great bonfire behind Hugi which seemed to light up the sky and outline him as if he were some kind of fire god who had stepped out of it; or in front of him, the ring of fire, a circle of smaller flames, which illuminated his pale face and the dark swirling tattoos which seemed to come alive, like mythical beasts. 

The couple then drank from the cup, the woman first and then the man, who handed it back to Hugi who finished the contents himself. There was a silence and suddenly Aethelflaed noticed a pig being led forward. She shut her eyes as an agonised squeal broke the stillness of the air and there was a faint metallic smell of blood. The people hummed and murmured their approval. Keeping her eyes averted from the sacrifice - surely they were not going to have to drink the blood? - she looked at the faces of the people of the camp. The two Thurgilson brothers were standing at the side, prominently in the front line. Sigefrid was staring intently and was quiet for once, and Erik had his thoughtful expression - was he wishing that he and Aethelflaed were standing in the ring of fire? Hugi held up a bowl of the animal's blood and placed it into the hands of an attendant. Then he dipped a bundle of twigs into it and sprinkled the whole gathering. Aethelflaed was reminded instinctively of the aspergillum at Mass, which sprinkled holy water over the congregation and had to stop herself making the sign of the cross. Then a large and ornate sword was passed through the ring to the young husband who took it and held it up. One of the women nudged Aethelflaed and said 'old sword of family'. 

Then the couple, hands still together, stepped out of the ring and began to walk towards the great hall where the remains of the sacrifice was already being prepared for the feast. At that moment Hugi raised a hand and cried out in a loud voice, which seemed to silence the people and claim their attention again. Aethelflaed understood that this was not considered usual. The young couple stopped walking and turned back to face the bonfire. One of the women pushed Aethelflaed from behind and she found herself propelled slowly forward. Quizzically she looked for someone to explain. There was Sihtric in the crowd, she saw his clean-cut face and widened her eyes at him. He nodded and she caught his words 'inside!'. She hesitated, holding up her hands in question and he called 'The gods have asked you to step into the ring, you have to do it'. At this point she could hardly refuse as the women as a group now seemed to be pushing her towards the ring of fire, which was still burning. She felt hot air on her face as she gathered up her dress and stepped inside the ring. What on earth was going on? Was she going to be finally sacrificed after all? In rising fear, she looked around as the crowd drew closer. Hugi was speaking but she had no clue what he was saying. She caught the word 'Freyja' and found herself again sprinkled with pig's blood. The shaman's face was inscrutable but he didn't look angry or threatening. Her whole body seemed to freeze with the strangeness of it, coupled with the incomprehensibility of the language. Suddenly she realised she wasn't standing alone and looked across to see Erik beside her. He was looking at Hugi fixedly so she decided to do the same. There was a faintly herby smell coming from the fire and she wondered if it had something in it to make the wedding couple feel drowsy, or intoxicated. Erik brought up his hand and nudged her arm at the same time. She put her hand over his, the reality of what was happening slowly dawning on her. Hugi had summoned Erik and herself in order to marry them. Her heart leapt in a small palpitation of fear: how exactly did this make sense if she were married to someone else?

But this was a pagan wedding and perhaps these people didn't recognise her own married status? Hugi, who was supposed to speak to the gods, presumably felt guided by them to join her to another man. Never mind that the gods' choice was a lot more to her liking than her father's choice for her, it was still not sanctioned by her religion. Erik's strong arm beneath hers was reassuringly steady and she found herself almost leaning on him. The strange almost woody scent of the fire around them and the smoke which began to reach her eyes made her light headed. Then through the gently licking flames a goblet seemed to float towards her. Aethelflaed took it in both hands, releasing her grip on Erik as she did so, and she held it to her mouth, as she had seen the bride do earlier. The drink wasn't blood, she was glad to discover, but tasted unusual, a mixture of smokiness and sharp berries. She slurped rather more than she meant to and then passed the cup to Erik who took it and drained it. Hugi looked into it and seemed surprised to see that the liquid had been all drunk. He raised it to his own lips anyway and made as if to drink. At the back of her mind, Aethelflaed thought dimly of the priest drinking from the chalice at Mass; 'the blood of Christ'. The scene began to spin slowly around her and she took Erik's arm again to steady herself. But he was attending to a young man nearby who had passed something to him. It looked like the narrow-hilted sword which he always carried sheathed on his hip.

Aethelflaed found herself smiling foolishly as the effect of the smoke and the strange drink began to work its way from her head to her feet. Like a newborn lamb she felt unsteady on her legs and lurched towards her bridegroom, hoping he would help her. Surely he also wasn't intoxicated? She had a vague fear of the two of them being carried away and hoped it wouldn't happen like that. Then suddenly she found herself being swept up and heard a cheer from the onlookers as Erik stepped out of the ring with her in his arms. "I - can't...." she muttered. "It's all right," he replied softly, holding her tighter. Overhead the moon seemed to shine directly onto the two of them, and Aethelflaed thought of Mani, the mood god, whose name Erik's father had wanted to give his son. 

How could she ever have wondered if he was puny, she thought, as she lay against his chest. He wasn't exactly bulky but powerfully built and his strength now seemed to console her as she started to drift out of consciousness. Had she drunk too much of that strange concoction? Should she have learned more about the ways of this people before she asked to attend a ceremony of theirs? She knew that the young couple had spent several days in preparation for this ceremony - there was a ritual washing, for instance, that both had undertaken, which Erik had told her symbolised the leaving of the single status. Well, she had bathed a couple of times in the lake, hadn't she? Did this count? Or perhaps the gods had made an exception for the two of them?

And suddenly it was all about Erik again as he carried her through the great hall, but instead of installing her at the great feast, he carried her up the stairs to the first floor. Aethelflaed wasn't hungry and felt glad that she wasn't going to have to preside at a banquet she had no heart for. Erik pushed open a thick wooden door and deposited her on one of the two beds within the little chamber. He then re-latched the door and pushed a bolt across. "I share this with my brother, but he won't disturb us tonight" her told her. Aethelflaed understood suddenly and completely. This is where their marriage would be sealed. She found herself unable to object, to voice her old fears. As she looked up, she saw a small glazed window in the roof, and through it the moon which lit up the room with a soft glow. Erik, her moon-lovely mate was gazing down at her, his hair neither silver or gold, but a combination of the two, just like moonlight, she thought.  
"Oh my soul's joy" she whispered, reaching up to him, touching the line of his skin where his neck curved into his shoulder, a place she loved. She was filled with delight at the wonder of him. And suddenly they were out of their clothes and she was lying in his arms, savouring his warmth and strength. The shaman's words: 'the uncrowned king will claim her' came to mind. And then her body seemed all flame, as if ignited by the ring of fire and she never wanted anything so much as to be joined to Erik, to become one flesh, and belong to him completely and forever. The moon god finally caught by the wolf goddess in a wild joining that would release and renew them both. His touch left a trail of gentle sparks on her skin like star dust, and she pulled him roughly towards her. Suddenly it didn't matter if he was rough or gentle. She opened up to him and took him deep within her, all fear completely gone as the memory of the old pain left her. There was nothing gentle about their lovemaking in the soft bedstraw and Aethelflaed realised she wanted it no other way. Her Viking sea-wolf had claimed her and she had claimed him right back. 

 

"I didn't hurt you? not at all?" he was all concern.  
"No, it was lovely. The way it should always be..." she was lying with her head on his shoulder, curled up against him. "You did have a lot of that drink" he teased her with a playful pinch at her chin.  
" You didn't think to warn me,"  
"I didn't know what was going to happen. When he called me into the ring I was just glad that Hugi hadn't chosen someone else."  
"Me too, but I think we are not exactly a secret here." She drew a lazy finger along a pale scar along his chest, "that must have hurt..."  
"I thought you would be revolted... that you preferred the smooth lines of your husband."  
In response Aethelflaed lifted her head and began to run her mouth along the long scar, dropping little kisses and trailing her tongue in the wake. There were quite a few scars, and she marvelled at how his skin rose in little goose bumps as she brushed it. How could he have imagined she would not want him? That she would prefer Aethelred. She could not think of anything that would tempt her to go back home if she didn't have to. The thought sickened her. Love was gentle and kind, and patient and caring and... well, to use his word... precious. She was aware that her exploration of him had moved lower and she paused, not sure of what to do next. He gave a little grunt and started to caress her in return. Aethelred never did this to her. She gave an involuntary gasp as his fingers grazed her cleft and lingered in response. She squirmed. With his one arm still around her, holding her to him, he gently slid a finger into her most secret place, "hurt?"  
"mnnnnnnno, mnnnn, ah..." He tried another one and then another. She wasn't complaining. "Keep doing that," she muttered as he continued to caress her with his thumb.   
"What, this?"  
"Mmmn, again," she covered his hand with hers and showed him what she had just discovered. Moments later the world exploded around and within her, as if a thousand little fires had been lit along her whole body, reaching even her fingertips.

"You are precious, lord" she whispered.


	11. Heorot

Now united with Erik in this strange marriage, it was finally possible for Aethelflaed to leave her cell in the stables. Erik had found them a one-room building in the stronghold. It had a low sloping thatch and was being used for storage. He took his new bride to inspect it. Everywhere was activity - the whole place was being cleared and cleaned, the ground swept, and fresh straw laid down. A bunch of dried herbs was hung at the entrance. Inside there was a table, two chairs, a chest, a lampstand, a small central hearth and at the far end a bed wide enough for two people. Both the floor beside the bed and the bed itself were strewn with wolf and deer skins for warmth. He was anxious for her to approve.  
"Of course I like it," she assured him, "but what will Sigefrid say? He wants the ransom money paid as soon as possible. He's not going to like the idea of me staying here with you."  
He sighed, "I know, and I will have to come to an agreement with him, but I cannot let you go, I cannot give you up..." He had not told her of the dread that haunted him daily; of the impossibility of finding a solution - other than accepting the ransom and sending her back to Mercia and the maggot. The very thought of that man touching Aethelflaed filled him with an angry jealousy. He knew that his loathing of Aethelred was entirely fuelled by his own love for the man's wife - otherwise he would simply have regarded him as an idiot.

Now Aethelflaed was no longer in the stable cell, she enjoyed the greater freedom to walk about the stronghold. Of course being Erik's woman meant that she was not going to be pestered by any of the men, and there was a greater respect for her. Still, she was a kind of hostage.... it was a strange half-reality. She was helping the women make lavender soap when Sigefrid made a visit to the newly-swept little house. Erik was hanging a wooden pole over a small window frame where curtains would soon go.  
"Brother, it's lonely in our old chamber these days,"  
"It's not forever, Sigefrid, you and I both know that this can't be for much longer..."  
"I thought she was bony and squealed? I know that mad old berserker insisted you are married to the bitch, but you know you can't have her - she goes back to her husband once we get our silver." he caught sight of Erik's face and felt worried, "Look, the good thing will be that you can get a new woman, with more flesh on her. This place you have fitted out can always be used again...by either of us."  
Erik appeared to brighten up, "It can! but for now let me have this one chance - I've never had a princess before - humping Alfred's daughter has an effect on me - makes me subtle, clever.... I shall wake up one morning able to read!"  
It wasn't even a very funny remark, but Sigefrid laughed anyway. He wished he felt easier about this new arrangement but something didn't feel quite right.

Instead of Helga or one of the other women bringing food to Aethelflaed's cell, it was often Erik who now fetched it. The security was different but it was there - there were always look-outs on the high towers and walkways who could give a warning of approaching armed men. It would be a simple thing to return Aethelflaed to the stables if they suspected any rescue attempt. Meanwhile, they awaited the arrival of Alfred's delegates who would negotiate the price.

And meanwhile, Aethelflaed enjoyed her new home. On their first night Erik brought a cooking pot full of stew which she placed over the open hearth to warm up. The hearth was lovely - it brought warmth to the little house and was also a place to heat food and water. The little curtains kept out the draught from the open window frame and the candles and lampstand gave out a soft light. It lacked the luxury of a palace, and the places she shared with her parents and her husband, but it was the kind of home she had not had before. This wasn't just somewhere they could make love in greater comfort, but a place to talk, to be at ease. She felt more married to Erik, a northman who didn't share her background or her religion, than to Aethelred who should have been her soulmate, but was not. Erik cared about her, was interested in her. She found herself telling him about her life and the things that mattered to her.

Opening up in this way always has risks - that the other person will not understand or care as much as one had hoped. But he had told her she was precious, and so she let him into her inmost thoughts. She talked about her family's miserable time on Athelney when her father seemed likely to lose everything, about the damp and the cold. She had only been little but remembered it vividly. She told him about her first pony, and the joy of reading the old tales. And she talked about Stormbreaker and how her father wanted her to be capable and to use her mind to its fullest. In turn, he told her about his childhood in Denmark, growing up beside the sea, on the harsh land which had caused so many to turn to raiding and settling in England and Ireland. She didn't seem to mind that he wasn't high born, that his father had turned from fishing to trading and then to raiding. Thurgils had been a tough man who had expected his sons to work hard, and who eventually turned them out to make their own way. Hearing about this made Aethelflaed want to care for Erik more - his life had been hard with very little by way of comfort. It seemed as if the brothers had only known war and fighting, it had become a way of life for them. So much so, that one of them now seemed incapable of doing anything else.

Being alone together in this comfortable place also made it easier for Aethelflaed to mention something that had been stirring in her heart for some time, almost since the day she met Erik. Sitting on a deer pelt beside the hearth fire, having eaten well and watching the embers glow orange, yellow and blue, she felt able to speak.   
"When you and your brother finally defeat my father and subdue all the land, how would you both be kings? Would you share it all or divide the land into two parcels?"  
Erik shifted uneasily, "We haven't decided... and anyway, we might not succeed..." This was far from the fighting talk she had heard others tell of.  
"The land to the south is more fertile, better farmland and grazing than the northern lands which have a more restless people." she went on "To be fair, whoever has the south would need to draw the boundary lower, to give the northern king more land, to compensate. Or you could draw a line down the centre, up and down, although the land doesn't divide quite equally...."  
"What are you saying?" He was looking at her directly, but still without any real concern.  
"I'm saying you will fall out. Whoever has the smallest chunk will want to extend his boundary, and war will be inevitable. One will kill the other and take the lot. It's the way of kings, or have you really not noticed?"  
He narrowed his eyes and looked into the fire. She didn't want to upset him, not on their first night in the little house he had organised for her. "What I'm really saying my dearest is that I don't think war is necessary at all." She reached across and took his hand, "Why do you want to be a king anyway? It's a horrible task - you are always looking behind you to see who has the knife. And this is lovely land - gentle hills, rivers full of fish and barns stuffed with grain. Sheep and cattle fat with young on the hillsides while the people, my people, look forward to another good harvest. Don't you see? There is so much land that Saxon, Briton and Dane can share it without the need for wars! Isn't it better if we can all live in peace, and build and trade and grow rich? When you have sacked and burned a village, and its barns are smoking ruins, how then will people feed themselves? If they are still alive that is, and if not, who will work the land next year? Just how will you feed your army in the winter? They can't eat silver. There is a time for war but eventually people will tire of it. Even your own fighting men will want to settle down... do you see?"  
He didn't reply and instead Aethelflaed sat closer to him and rested her head on his shoulder. The conversation reverted to personal things.

Unlike Aethelred, Erik didn't resent Aethelflaed's unusual education. He was, if anything, impressed by Alfred's ideas and determination that his children should not be spoiled and useless. Aethelflaed had wondered how he would react to the idea of her doing weapons training but he seemed pleased. Viking women often accompanied their husbands on raids, he told her, and so it wasn't unusual for women to handle weapons. It was refreshing to Aethelflaed to have a man who was proud of what she could do and what she knew. He wasn't suspicious either when she wanted to turn her intelligence and imagination to their lovemaking. It seemed finally as if the ice around her heart was melting in the glow of Erik's love.


	12. Negotiations

Dawn's pale light filtered through the curtains of the small building. Already there was some activity in the stronghold but anyone passing the newly-married couple's home moved swiftly on as muffled sounds came from within. Inside, wolf skins lay crumpled across the bed or hastily strewn onto the floor as the slender shadow of a young woman's upright torso fell across the covers. The young warrior looked up from the pillow at the face of his wife, their heads partly curtained by her hair. Pale flesh on pale flesh, locked together in rhythmic dance, they grasped hands, oblivious to anything but each other.

"It is today they come," a deep voice sounded from the corner. With a final gasp Aethelflaed threw back her head and climbed off her husband, ignoring the intruder.  
"Your other husband will be missing you by now and wondering how you are," Sigefrid leered, "but he needn't worry, need he?"  
"You'll get your price," she snapped back, without looking at him. Instead she gazed lovingly at her husband and leaned over him to kiss his face gently. After last night Erik wasn't in any state - or mood - to speak to his brother, or anyone else. Of course he knew that they would come today! Why else had he and Aethelflaed spent the night in energetic lovemaking, snatching a few naps in between?

 

Alfred had sent Uhtred along with Aethelred to discuss terms. The little party rode into Beamfleot to be greeted by the brothers in belligerent mood. Refusing to kneel, the visitors stood defiantly as Erik approached the slight figure in the front of the party. "You alone will kneel" he declared with ill-concealed loathing.  
"I will not"  
In response there was a push, a yelp and Aethelred found himself on his knees in front of Sigefrid. Behind him Erik's stare was of pure hatred. Observing this little scene, Uhtred realised that more was at stake than fixing a simple price. Was this angry Viking actually hiding something else, such as feelings for the King's daughter? How sensible was this when negotiating a price?  
"Will you fight me?" spat Erik. Aethelred didn't bother to reply. Of course he wasn't going to do anything so foolish. "Will you fight my brother?" At this Sigefrid perked up, "I would like that" he said conversationally, knowing that he wouldn't get the chance.

The discussion became more aggressive and ridiculous, Erik calling Aethelred a pig's arse. Uhtred's heart sank - whatever had been going on here was not going to end well, he thought. Then Aethelflaed appeared, silent and composed. Uhtred noticed that she had not lost weight and seemed well. He had been dreading another Thyra - pale, skeletal, haunted. Her husband approached her for a private word.  
"Have you been ... touched?" he whispered to her, as she knew he would.  
"I have not," she replied firmly, hoping that she didn't smell too much of Erik. Then added "What of Thyra? Did you find my horse?" Aethelred stared at her for a moment, as if an answer was beneath him, "She is well, and we did find the horse," he told her briefly. A wave of relief swept over her and she gave a half-smile. To those watching it looked as if she was simply pleased to see Aethelred again. 

While Sigefrid named the most fanciful sums he could think of, Erik said nothing but sat and stared sullenly. Uhtred found he was dealing exclusively with the one brother. This also seemed odd: the younger one was usually the spokesman, the tactician, yet here he was taking no part in things. He and Aethelflaed ignored each other but it was clear at least to Uhtred that they must be hiding something. Having travelled with the young Mercian and his turd of an advisor, Uhtred had very little sympathy for them, but when the Viking strongman Weland knocked the arrogant brat of a husband out cold, he felt a certain pity which turned to concern when the unconscious man was dumped naked in the pigsty. What was behind all this?

He would shortly find out. His man, Sihtric, filled him in on events in the Viking stronghold, including the marriage ceremony. Arranging to meet Erik in the latrine, Uhtred made clear his surprise and dismay at what had happened.   
"You have to help us" Erik said, "Aethelflaed says you have a brother we could join in the north..."  
"You could go there, he would be glad of another good sword arm, but not with the princess. You would be hunted down. No one would believe that the Lady Aethelflaed went willingly with you."  
"I cannot give her up..."  
"You will have to, for now."  
"I won't - the agreement is with my brother, not me. I took no part in any of it. She comes with me. Talk to her and see for yourself."  
"If word of this marriage ceremony gets out, there will be no end of trouble for both of you. You have to get clear of your brother and Alfred for now. Then it's deniable."  
"The ceremony was not straightforward - there was no sacrifice and the preceding rituals hadn't been done - it was all very much at the whim of the shaman. I don't think it would be considered binding.... except by us..."

Uhtred made a point of seeking out Aethelflaed who was back in the stable cell. "I will leave this place with Erik or not at all," she told him firmly. Was this really the same person as the little girl of six years he had once pulled from an old building from where she had hoped to see him kill six Vikings? She stared at him defiantly, her seventeen years full of hope and dreams.  
"It's best for Wessex if I can get out of here before the ransom is paid, and besides, I need to speak to my father about Aethelred. I think he's planning to betray him. I've watched him when he thought I wasn't looking. He wants the crown for himself. If my father falls and Aethelred seizes power, where will that leave me? Poisoned probably, or a nunnery if I'm fortunate. He can barely stand me, and he would not hesitate to get rid of me."

Uhtred considered her words. She went on: "Who will pay this ransom? My father of course! Aethelred won't want to, it's a bad bargain for him. With my father stripped of his wealth and unable to pay an army, Aethelred is poised with his own fyrds to take control. Look at how he tried to keep the price down! His only purpose in getting me back is because I come with an interest in Wessex which he can exploit later. After that, I won't die straightaway, oh no, but in a year or two there will be a great funeral and he can marry some other noble's daughter, God help her." Aethelflaed thought of how her husband's mistress had been spared the ride to Lundene and was safely tucked away in Tamworth.

It was true that Alfred's health was not good; he wasn't robust, and he did have enemies. Uhtred could well believe that the Lord of Mercia had ambitions beyond his abilities - Gods help this land. He sighed. Serpent's Breath would be singing before they left this place...


	13. Wyrd byð ful arӕd

Wyrd byð ful arӕd  
_Destiny is All..._

þæs ofereode, þisses swa mæg ['that passed away, so may this'] 

__

____

For the second time that day Aethelflaed felt sick. She put it down to the stress of the final negotiations before the handover, when she would be exchanged in a couple of days' time for a king's ransom. Uhtred had arrived earlier on behalf of the King with a subdued Aethelred to follow on the day of the exchange. After the last encounter with the brothers, the Lord of Mercia was lying low. In two days' time she would return to her old life as one released from captivity. 

The truth was written on her heart - she would be leaving freedom for a prison. Erik, her soul's joy, would no longer be beside her day and night, to share her life in all its new-found fullness. This she would exchange for a stranger, a man who saw her as a trophy, a chattel, who never cared to understand her and who had no intention of making her happy. Who didn't love her and who was not gentle or kind.

Erik was her man and she was his. Before both their gods this was so.

And yet staying together was impossible. Uhtred was right - both their worlds would reject them. Sigefrid would not allow his brother to keep her with so much silver at stake, and her family would expect her to do her duty to her husband, family and Wessex. What sort of life could she make with Erik if they had to spend their lives in hiding, in some secret place? They would surely be betrayed eventually. Sigefrid would kill them both in revenge for the lost ransom or her father would kill Erik and put her in a nunnery, in disgrace. But....

Lying beside Erik in the darkness, she tested each possibility as it came to her. There seemed nothing for it but to submit to her duty. Destiny is all, as Uhtred said, but her destiny was unclear. She closed her eyes and prayed that somehow, their future might reflect the united vision of her father: Dane and Saxon together. Her hand moved over her belly as she shifted. Then she felt it, as if in reply. The queasy feeling, the faint metallic taste in her mouth. That sense that something was different. And it came at once to her that something was new life. Made by herself and the man beside her.

And she couldn't tell him. If she were really carrying his child and Erik knew of it, he would never agree to give her up, even for a while. Aethelflaed knew him well enough to know that. He would protect them with his life, which would certainly mean losing it. The only thing she could do was to return to Mercia, submit to Aethelred's attentions, and present him with this child made by love. 

Meanwhile Sigefrid would have his army and he would march on the South. Ruined by the ransom and unable to pay an army, her father would surely flee to Franconia with the rest of his family and household. Aethelred might then decide to stake his claim to the crown of Wessex. With any luck, Sigefrid and Aethelred would meet in battle. There could only be one winner. Aethelflaed figured that her husband would keep her close by, which would now be in her best interest. Whatever happened, Erik must know where she was. A great battle would weaken both armies but not mortally. If Aethelred should lose, Erik must rescue her before he fled abroad. It was difficult... difficult..... too many unknowns. But there might be a way after all.....

She had to be strong, strong enough for both of them, and more so now there was a third. 

 

The day before the handover, Aethelflaed returned to her old room in the stables. There was still time to make plans, to seize desperately on vague hopes. Not that it was easy to talk of the death of others.... What if.... What if... Sigefrid was killed in battle? Without Erik alongside him this would happen one day, either a year from now or twenty; he wasn't a planner, he acted impulsively, he was crazy. What of Aethelred? Would his planning lead to the English crown? He lacked her father's intelligence or statecraft, but if he were lucky....? People were lucky or unlucky - Guthrum was unlucky, for example. Or did we make our own luck? Perhaps it all came down to destiny after all.... What did not help was panicking, she must not panic. The future would unfold and she must just watch and occasionally help it along, like the spinners at the foot of the tree of life in the old tales, and wait..... 

"Whatever happens, when all should look lost, come and find me," she urged Erik as they prepared to part. "Especially if my husband is victorious. If my father falls and Aethelred takes Wessex, he will have less need of me."  
"And if my brother should kill him, I will be sure to find you. I will make you my Queen and together we will rule whatever part of the kingdom falls to me."  
Erik wasn't happy about her plans to leave this place alone, but he had no better idea. 

 

Riding away from Beamfleot Aethelflaed realised that she carried within her not just the child growing in secret but the precious gift of love that lay like a hidden jewel in her own heart, and which must sustain her in the coming months. Even if she had to remain with her husband for the next twenty years, the lonely exile of her heart would always carry the memory of Erik's love, it had to be enough for now. For certain she now knew that Aethelred could not break her.

Back in the stronghold Erik made his way to the little house they had shared, sat on the bed and stared bleakly around him. There was a discarded underdress lying among the scattered pelts. He held it to his face and wept into it.  
____

Early spring came with news of a growing Danish army. With Alfred weakened and unable to defend, it was certain that Sigefrid's army would sweep south into Wessex and then up into Mercia, thus uniting England into the Danelaw. Guthrum would be cowering in East Anglia which would swiftly fall and eventually the largest part of England would belong to the brothers. Guthred would not easily hold out and so finally Northumbria would be annexed.

At least that's how it looked. 

Alfred was not the only one watching. Aethelred from his stronghold in Tamworth moved south towards London. With his army behind him it would be a simple thing to declare himself King of Wessex, then turn and face the Danish heathen army. With her heart in her mouth, Aethelflaed watched as the pieces began to fall into place.

Her father retreated to Cornwallum and readied his ships in case. He would not flee quite yet. Meanwhile Aethelred had himself crowned in a lavish ceremony in Lundene. 

To celebrate the event, A large procession was held through the streets of the old Roman city, ending at the great basilica where the great and good would congregate to pay homage to the latest ruler. The Mercian council and the Witan had been summoned. Most of the Witan were unhappy about this but the sight of Alfred's daughter helped ease consciences. Glowing in a golden robe and clearly pregnant, she seemed the epitome of loyal queenship. Not yet a queen, she sat gazing out from her throne, placed a little lower than her husband's. 

She had taught herself to feel nothing, to let herself grow numb inside, while her hidden love lay buried like a pearl in an oyster. The interminable singing washed over her as she smiled serenely at the people, her father's people, and up at her husband. He looked down at her and smiled back. It was like smiling into a mirror, she thought; he didn't see her, did he?

She looked away again and found herself gazing into a pair of familiar blue eyes.

Dressed as a Danish trader, Erik had entered the building to see if he could see the woman that Hugi had married him to all those months ago. And there she was, his Hati, her beautiful face a mask of regal calm. His eyes swept over her and he froze, suddenly, when he saw her rounded belly. That bastard! She was _his _woman, however high the pig's arse may sit.__

____

He stared up at her, his blue eyes round with shock. And Aethelflaed saw him, and briefly held his eye. At once she lowered her eyes and gave a gentle, knowing smile. She looked away and then directly at him, placing her hand over her belly.  
Dear gods! What was she trying to tell him? Could it be.....?

__

He slipped back into the crowd, keeping a view of her, but out of the main sight line of Aethelred. He didn't think he'd been recognised, even though as a Dane he stood out more; he'd made little effort to dress as a Saxon. Every moment in her presence was precious to him, and he wished he could stay there for as long as she remained in that place. But he could not risk being noticed. Did the maggot beat his pregnant wife? Force her to have painful sex with him? Perhaps now she was with child he did not. At least Aethelflaed didn't look bruised or especially unwell. He cast around to see if he recognised anyone, but he saw no one he knew. Then he left. As he walked away he turned one last time but she wasn't looking at him. Her expressionless eyes were focused straight ahead.

__

That Aethelflaed might have been pregnant when she left Beamfleot was something Erik never considered. Did she know and not tell him for fear of spoiling their plans? She must have realised that he would never let her go back to Aethelred if he knew she was carrying his child. He would have felt it his duty to protect them both. How many months were left before the birth? And if she died it would be because of him. He should have been more careful and pulled out, despite her protestations. No doubt she had wanted this, had preferred to have his child rather than Aethelred's, but he had failed in his duty to care for her. He fretted constantly about her wellbeing and safety. Not knowing how she was tormented him daily. If they could have been together how he would have cared for her! Placed his hand on her belly every morning and felt the child moving, given them both love and tenderness, all the things he knew Aethelred denied her.

There was a sweetness to the idea of a child. Their love had made a new life and in the face of so much death and destruction that had to be a sign of hope. He thought for the first time of praying - but to which god? The child to come would be baptised so perhaps he should consider eventually converting to Alfred's religion, to bind them all together more closely. The worry lines deepened on his brow. Autumn turned to Winter - the child must be born soon....


	14. Winter

_ða se eorl ongan for his ofermode_  
alyfan landes to fela laþere ðeode. - Battle of Maldon  
["Then in his over-confidence, the earl yielded to the invaders too much land"] 

Sigefrid's army marched into Mercia and met Aethelred's north of London. With Erik delaying at Beamfleot, claiming sickness, Sigefrid threw his shields, and himself, at the Saxons. For a while it looked as though the heathen army would prevail, but discipline and good training kept the Saxons from breaking and eventually they held the pagans off. It was a stalemate of sorts, and by nightfall no one knew who had won. By nightfall, no one knew where Sigefrid was either until his body was found, his chest a mass of blood, his back unharmed. A huge bonfire was built which lit up the night sky and the souls of the dead Northmen released to Valhalla. 

So it had come to this, Erik thought as he paced alone in the stronghold; he had chosen love over his brother, but the betrayal soured in his throat. He had reasoned that his brother would never be happy in any world without fighting. Even if he had won a king's crown it would never have been enough. Death in battle was always his likely end, though it did not prevent Erik from feeling the weight of sorrow and guilt that now lay heavily on him. He had never known life without his brother's presence and now he was alone. 

But what of Aethelflaed? She was never far from his thoughts. Could he regret having chosen her over everything else that had a claim upon him? No he could not. Especially now he knew she had borne his child. He heard from the rumours that it had been a girl and they had called her Aelfwynn, presumably after Alfred. Elf-joy. How he wished she could be his joy, this child he'd never seen. The separation was a torture he had never imagined. All those months ago he had reluctantly agreed to let Aethelflaed go, knowing how badly he would suffer, but in the hope that eventually he would see her again and claim her for his own. But not knowing was a terrible price to pay for an uncertain future; did she suffer? Had the birth been difficult? He had no way of knowing her state of health or mind. Those brief moments in the London basilica had reassured him of very little. She had been so subdued, mute, passive. She had barely looked at him but when she did it had been, he thought, to signal to him that her feelings were unchanged. 

He recalled her words... to seek her out if Aethelred should be victorious. She had feared her husband's intentions if Alfred should fall. In her mind the daughter of a dead or conquered king would be almost valueless. But would she be? Her father was still alive and preparing to flee abroad with his heir and the rest of his family. He was by no means entirely destroyed and he had a son to succeed him. 

Erik would have to take control of the remains of Sigefrid's great army and prepare for one last assault on Mercia. The months rolled on while preparations at Beamfleot went ahead. There was no news from Tamworth, other than that Aethelred and his family were living there. The security would be tight. The maggot would need to be drawn out somehow. 

Haesten was nervous. "Lord, we need to take Wessex for good, kill or cut off Alfred and then attack the Mercians. I do not like your plan to leave Wessex undefended". Erik understood the sense of this, it is what he would have done.  
"Alfred has nowhere to run - I do not want to waste men's lives on chasing him when the great prize is waiting. Alfred's crown has been taken..."  
"But by a man who cannot hold it. You know as well as I do that he is a fool. Alfred is more dangerous."  
"And he will be dealt with. First I want to take the fool and spit him like an ox over a fire. You will get your booty and a lot more besides."  
"And the whore of Mercia? Will you ride her again?" Haesten's words came with an undercurrent of what - a sneer?  
Outrage was the best response, "You think I would throw away my brother's legacy, his reputation, for a hump?" Erik snarled, giving his old comrade an angry shove. It didn't do to let the men sense a weakness, after all. 

Winter rolled on, Erik made half-hearted incursions into Wessex and across the border into Oxnaford. It had been over a year since he had parted from Aethelflaed, and several months since he had seen her. There had been no recent news since the birth of their child so he sent Dagnarr and Njall to investigate. Dressed as Saxons they travelled north. Mercia was prosperous but everywhere people seemed on edge, as if waiting for the showdown which would surely come by Spring. The two riders made their way to the Mercian capital in search of news. 

Alfred's ransom had paid for the army and there was still plenty more in reserve. Erik would need it for one last push. The news from Mercia was troubling. Aethelred moved quietly between his strongholds, mostly Tamworth and Lichfield which was to the north. Attacking both would require a good march which would give the Mercians time to group and face him. Erik had already wasted time. Sigefrid would have attacked earlier, but then Erik didn't relish the idea of destroying Alfred or his dream of a united England. Since Aethelflaed had spoken to him that evening in their little shared hut, his ideas began to change. Why should people not enjoy peace and its benefits? Why could Saxon and Dane not live together peaceably? Was a crown really worth it? The king's daughter had said what a burden kingship could be. Would he really prefer to be a Lord of Chaos, striking fear into the hearts of simple villagers? Or would he rather have a stronghold of his own, a home such as he'd never had? Since their father had sent them away, the only home Erik had ever had was that little hut he shared with Aethelflaed, and oh, how he had relished it. 

His two spies returned with mixed news. Alfwynn lived, well-cared for by nurses and Aethelred slipped from one stronghold to another. Servants talked of his increasing paranoia, the accusations of treachery towards his most trusted men, and, more worryingly, the same old mistrust of his wife. There had been no recent news of Aethelflaed. Dagnarr and Njall had posed as victuallers, hunting venison and selling it to the strongholds, befriending the servants. From the sound of it, Aethelred was searching for Alfred with the intention of ridding himself of his father in law. He had moved south, to Abingdon, almost next to where Erik was camped. So... they would meet in Wessex. 

Aethelred must have taken leave of all his sense - Abingdon? It was scarcely defensible, but then if he had not wanted it known where he was, one place was as good as another. Pride, over-confidence would be his undoing. 

Leaving Haesten behind with a garrison, Erik rode towards Abingdon and besieged it. To his surprise, there did not seem much of an opposition among the surrounding areas. Aethelred had never been popular, now it seems he was resented. 

Erik was sitting in his tent, wondering how long they could last in the increasing cold, even with the rest of the treasure to support them. There was a rustle at the entrance and Dagnarr appeared "Lord, we have a servant from the Mercian household," Erik was instantly on his feet. Could there be - news of her, at last?  
The servant was brought in, dishevelled but unharmed. Erik was affable, relaxed. "Tell me of the Lord's household," he said, "I am not waging war on your people, but I do want to meet Lord Aethelred. I believe he has something precious to me."  
The old man wiped his brow on his sleeve, "My Lord is afraid - he fears everything. He fears the Danes, and his own men."  
"What of his wife, the Lady Aethelflaed?" The servant would know her name, Erik just wanted to say it again.  
"He keeps her separate, no one may see her but the women he has chosen. How she is, I do not know." 

Her words came back to him with force. He must go to her now. It might already be too late. He threw his most battle hardened men to the forefront and attacked. 

With the commotion of battle, Erik and his two former spies entered the earl's residence. Aethelred met them in the large meeting chamber. "How much silver do you require again to leave us alone? You choose a bad time to attack, our winters are hard. Your army needs food..."  
"Where is she?" Erik demanded, his sword unsheathed. All around him the fight was raging and here was the maggot facing him calmly. He must have believed that the Northmen were only interested in silver and gold. And at another time he would have been right.  
"She is not here, I sent her north for her own safety." Aethelred replied, "but why would you care about my wife? Have you ridden her too?" 

Erik's heart missed a beat. Had all this been for nothing? He looked across at Dagnarr, "Search the place, every room. Every outhouse. Leave nowhere unsearched. If she's here, find her." He pointed his sword at Aethelred's throat, "Now then, let's sit down and wait, shall we?" 

"Lord," Njall ran back into the meeting room, "the Lady is here... we know where she is...."  
"Then bring her in! Are you stupid? Why are you standing there without her? Do I have to get her myself?"  
The young fighter's face blanched.  
"We found one of the maidservants. The door is iron and locked. They are starving her. " 


	15. The Husband's Message

_þeodnes dohtor, gif he þin beheah._  
_Ofer eald gebeot incer twega,_  
_gehyre ic ӕtsomne ...S.R. geador_  
_,E.A.W. and ,M. aþe benemnan,_  
_þӕt he þa wӕre and þa winetreowe_  
_be him lifgendum lӕstan wolde_  
_þe git on ӕrdagum oft gesprӕconn_ [from The Husband's Message] 

____

____

__

__O prince's daughter, if he may have you.  
About the former vows between you both,  
I understand he coupled in his oath  
heaven and earth, and joined thereto himself  
That he would keep as long as he has life,  
Truly with you the bond and pledge of faith  
Which you made frequently in former days. 

__

__"It will be too late," Aethelred said coolly, "she has paid for her sins. The adulteress can never be reached. Her daughter will never see her, she is being brought up far away. Carefully."  
"The KEY! Where is the KEY?"  
"I threw it into the river. She cannot escape. Her bones will be there for a thousand years..." 

__The door was set into a stone wall, in an underground chamber. Running his hand over the surface, Erik surmised that it wasn't solid, "Wood, with a thin iron coating. Axes. Now. Where's Weland?"_ _

__While the men worked away with axes, Eric dragged Aethelred up the stone steps again. He could not entrust the maggot to anyone else. "Will you fight me now?" He spat.  
"I will not," came the response, "tell me, did you ride my wife? Perhaps her child is yours? I have no way of knowing how many men have had her...."_ _

__And suddenly there she was. At the doorway, in Dagnarr's arms. "She lives, Lord..."  
He caught a glimpse of a pale face, tousled, lank hair falling across Dagnarr's arm. She appeared to weigh nothing.  
"Bring her here!" a swift cuff sent Aethelred to the floor, a kick kept him there. Erik gazed at her, "I'm sorry I did not come sooner," he whispered. She gave a brief smile, "You're here now."  
"Put her in that chair, the one up there," he indicated the heavy brocaded wooden chair where the Lord would sit. To Erik's relief, she sat without falling. Then he bent down over Aethelred and dragged him to the foot of the chair.  
"Apologise to her!"  
Aethelred looked blank.  
"You will apologise to the Lady Aethelflaed for every hurt, every slight, every bruise, every time you caused her distress. You will say you are sorry, even though no one will believe you are. But you will beg for her forgiveness. Maggot."  
Aethelred began to speak "I am sorry, Lady, if I seemed harsh...."  
"You were harsh" she replied in a soft voice. "I could have loved you, had you let me. Instead you hurt me, and for nothing. You were never gentle or kind."  
"Forgive me! let us start again. I swear I will be good...."  
Erik put his foot slowly down onto Aethelred's hand to prevent him reaching his short sword. "No, you won't. You were prepared to kill her. No doubt you hit her even when she was with child. You piece of weasel shit. Tell her you don't deserve her..."  
"I don't deserve..."  
"LADY..."  
"Lady, I don't deserve you." he spoke dully, dutifully, without conviction. 

__Erik looked across at Aethelflaed whose eyes were fixed entirely on her husband. Leaving Aethelred on the floor, he moved to her side, bent down and whispered, " Do not fear, you will not have to live with him again. But I need to know. Does Hati still seek Mani? If not, you can still leave with honour, lady, and go wherever you please. I will arrange it all."  
Her eyes met his; he saw her suffering, but also that familiar gleam of her spirit, "She does," she said simply.  
"Take him outside," he ordered his men, "and do what you have to." 

Erik's could not be the hand that killed Aethelred. It would be difficult enough to have one of his men do it. But once the Lord of Mercia was dead, the fighting would end. Aethelflaed would be declared the Lady of the Mercians. 

__

__Aethelflaed was very weak and could not walk very much. She would need to rest and take small amounts of food and drink until strong enough to travel. She could not be moved just yet so Erik had his men guard the town and the earl's residence, while sending the Mercian army to their homes. This would likely not last long, there would be resistance to him but for now he felt safe enough._ _

__Released from her prison and Aethelred's tyranny, Aethelflaed slept comfortably in the great bed in the earl's bedroom. Erik watched over her, silently. Her maid brought her thin ale and porridge. He regarded it with distaste.  
"Ask her what she would like, we must tempt her with good things" Erik whispered. Aethelflaed may have been recovering but she always heard every word that he said, "I will be better soon" she reassured him. The simple plain food looked fine to her.  
"Take all the time you need, we've waited long enough," he replied, taking a dry bird-like hand in his. How he remembered those hands, this one looked half the size. He held it to his mouth and kissed it, "Lady, nothing will ever harm you again," he promised her. 


	16. Homecoming

_So then Sigurðr Trigvasson went to his longship with its carved dragon's head prow and stowed it with all the chests of treasure. He loaded it with his two-handed sword, his chain mail and all his shining armour. His minstrel's harp and great book of lore he stowed with care, and with Ilse his dragonborn lady, they girded their longswords and set sail from the land of fire and ice. The oarsmen pulled and the boat raced over the whales' road. The wind filled the sail and soon they could no longer see the land but only the great sea ahead._ [from Aethelflaed's book of tales] 

__Alfred, King again, came back to Wintanceaster on a day too mild to be Winter but too cold yet to be Spring. His great banner with the gold wyvern flew from the highest tower and inside the old Roman basilica the feast was being prepared. All the Witan greeted him as he entered the great hall, dressed in his purple tunic and richly embroidered cloak. His eyes scanned the room; yes, there it was, the boar's banner on blue of Mercia. And there she was, his daughter, the Lady of the Mercians, in a blue cloak. He went straight to her, ignoring the people on either side of her.  
"I have you to thank, daughter," he held out his hands, and she knelt and kissed them.  
"You have a granddaughter," she said softly, rising to her feet, "and a future son in law who you should really thank..."  
His eyes finally moved to the tall man beside her. Erik bowed, a striking figure in a blue tunic with dark blue cloak, fastened with two Viking-style brooches. Alfred could not help noting the blond hair, tied back high in Northman style but more loosely, and with some hair growth at the sides. Softer, but unmistakeably Viking. "Lord King," he said in his clear strong voice, "my sword is yours through the Lady Aethelflaed."  
Alfred nodded, "You have been baptised? I believe we are now to call you Ecgberht. Bright sword."  
Erik gave a curt nod. "But I still call him Erik," said Aethelflaed in a soft but firm voice. The King said nothing but moved towards the year-old child being held by her nurse. Her round blue eyes gazed unrecognisingly at the slender, rather gaunt figure with the commanding face. Gently, he took her in his arms and carried her as he went to greet the others.  
"Well he likes _her_ anyway" muttered Erik.  
"And he will like you, especially when he sees the rest of the ransom. Give him time." 

__

__"In the name of my father the King and by his full authority given to me, I name you an Earl of Mercia. Rise Earl Erik Ecgberht Thurgilson. Serve this land with strength and honour, truth and justice." Aethelflaed lightly tapped Stormbreaker on Erik's broad shoulder. He got to his feet, "I swear it," he said, gazing into her eyes. She gave a foxy grin, "Will that do, I wonder?"  
"Simple but accurate I would think."  
"You're my first named earl. Or would you rather be jarl?"  
"Whatever you like, I'm yours to command."  
"Later, after the marriage ceremony. Then I will have some, um, requirements of you..."  
"Then that will be my first duty," They laughed softly at the private joke. "I'm your wife already," she reminded him, "even if no one here knows it." 

__Aethelflaed was still weakened from her time in the locked room. She was not yet at her right weight and her clothing felt baggy on her. Erik had taken control of everything from the time she was rescued from Aethelred's madness. He had seen that she had attendants and every comfort. He did not come to her at night, respecting her position among her people and not wanting to harm her reputation. Now her husband was dead, she held all power in Mercia and he was determined that she should have the chance to rule, if she wished. His own life was changing with hers. To remain in this world, beside her, he must conform to some of their ways, including their religion. He knew Guthrum had faced contempt from his fellow Northmen for being baptised, but what choice did Erik have? Alfred would not accept a pagan son in law. Erik had never been especially religious; he would do what was necessary to live with Aethelflaed in peace._ _

__Aethelflaed told him that if he chose to retain some of his old beliefs, it was up to him. "I have loved you for yourself, everything you are, and I do not want you to change," she told him, "You will always be my beloved Viking lover, my moon-god man." She stroked his beard, still long, with the metal ring. He encircled her with one powerful arm and drew her close. How was it that she always felt so safe with this man, no matter what? Without him there was only madness; she certainly could not do her father's work in Mercia without Erik beside her as her rock. It would even so be a sacrifice. How much rather would she board a longship with him and sail away! Or live as Brida did alongside Ragnar... It was only a wonder that Erik was prepared to enter her world with all its demands. Seeing him with his daughter on his lap, looking every much the loving father, as her own father had been, one might make the mistake of thinking he was a tame sea-wolf. But it would be a mistake, she knew._ _

__This was no time for sadness but Aethelflaed wondered whether Erik still mourned his brother. He had betrayed his own blood for her. Would he ever regret it? When she asked him he was silent for a moment. Then he drew her onto his lap. "I loved my brother but in the end I realised that he would never be happy in a world without war. It was all he knew and he did not want any other life. We would have fought eventually...but of course I do miss him, and I wish he could have found happiness...." He squeezed her and dropped a kiss onto her nose.  
"I hope I can make you happy," she said in a small voice.  
"I wanted this one chance, and I've taken it." He said firmly, thinking how thin she still felt beneath her dress. "Not everyone can have a Saxon princess for their own private wench!"  
She laughed as he bent to kiss her, but gently as she was still weak. 

__The weeks up to their marriage in Wintanceaster were spent with Aethelflaed regaining her health. Taking long rides on horseback but also meeting with the Mercian nobles. Many were suspicious of her relationship with Erik but were reassured that he would take no formal power. In reality, he was advising her in detail about the organisation of the Mercian army, which would be facing Haesten's men before too long and which he would help to lead. He arranged an efficient household guard that would protect her and keep her safe. Aethelflaed was glad that he was so busy - having him around was disconcerting for her. She longed for the days in their little hut together when they could do as they wished, but now it was impossible. As her strength grew back, she gazed at him wistfully, noticing again all the things she had loved about him before. The way his neck curved into his shoulder, the tattoo at the back of his neck and his powerful torso and strong sensitive hands whose touch she knew so well. But they could not lie together yet. She longed with increasing impatience for the day when she would be married all over again to him._ _

__For a royal wedding, the ceremony in her father's chapel was very simple. There were a few people attending; her parents, her cousin Aethelwold and assorted household friends. Father Aelfhere, a monk-priest friend of Beocca, performed the ritual, laying the ribbons across the hands of the betrothed and binding them together. Aelfhere would return to Mercia with them where he would act as their chaplain and teach Erik to read. Aethelflaed had wanted to do this, but did not have time to do more than a little reading in the evening with him. Literacy was important, she felt, if her husband was to take his place with the other ealdormen and he could then help her handle the important matters that came by letter. Aelfhere came with strong recommendations, he spoke Danish and was handy with a club._ _

__His sermon at their marriage was simple and short, but moving. "Christian marriage binds two as one, but it is not the priest who does this. No, it is the couple themselves who give the sacrament to each other, which makes it unique. The rest of us who are here are merely witnesses, including myself. In marriage the couple become one flesh, sharing the joys and pains of life, each with the other. It reflects the mystical union of Christ with his church, each marriage being sacred and holy. And so I bless this couple, that they may be fruitful, not just with children, but in the growth of their love and life together. Let us all pray for the Lord and Lady here and wish them every joy!"_ _

__This, reflected Aethelflaed, was at the heart of a true marriage: an equal sharing and respect. Her suffering with Aethelred had not been holy or blessed. But God was surely present wherever people of good will met in heart and mind - she thought of her pagan marriage at Beamfleot, how it also had been true and beautiful, how she and Erik had brought themselves to each other as a sacred gift. God had been there too._ _

__"See this.."Aethelflaed muttered to Erik as she joined him in their quarters in Lundene a few days later, "I had a letter from one Aethelbald who lives north of Oxnaforda near a place called Worcester. He has offered to cultivate an old stronghold to the east of his. It's a very generous offer he is making, according to him. Says the land is poor but that well farmed the large hideage would yield a good return, all of which he offers to send me for the first five years, if he can have it thereafter. Sounds good, doesn't it?"  
"It does, but for that reason we need to take a closer look. Who had it before?"  
"It hasn't been lived in for some time. The owner had no children and it has reverted to my gift. It would be one idea to let Aethelbald have it as he clearly wants, but I am thinking there may be other uses." 

__As Aethelflaed suspected, it was good land in beautiful country. The stronghold itself was fragile and needed work, but she could already picture a great hall rising, beautiful galleries and an upstairs suite of chambers with views over the Mercian forests and hills. There was plenty of land. She and Erik gazed at it quietly for a moment. Then she spoke, "This will be my wedding gift to you. It is to be your own stronghold, and there will be farms around it for grain, sheep and cattle. You can use it as you wish. Here will be your hearth and home. Your banner of the wolf and moon will hang above your place at table and here you and I will be at ease. Do you think Hugi would come to dine with us? I've always wanted to thank him for bringing us together."_ _

__Erik smiled at the Lady of Mercia, "He might.... why ever not?"_ _


End file.
